IPHIGENIA  IN  TAURIS. 

A  DRAMA  IN  FIVE  ACTS 

BY 

Goethe. 


Translated  from  the  German 

BY 

FREDERICK  BUTLER. 


READING,  PENNSYLVANIA, 
1898. 


V 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/iphigeniaintauri01goet 


IPHIGENIA  IN  TAURIS. 

A  DRAMA  IN  FIVE  ACTS 

BY 

Goethe. 


Translated  from  the  German 

BY 

FREDERICK  BUTLER. 


READING,  PENNSYLVANIA, 
1898. 


Copyright,  1 898, 
by 

Frederick  Butler. 


Press  of 
Albright  &  Shenton, 
Reading,  Pa. 


IPHIGENIA  IN  TAURIS. 

(A  DRAMA.) 


Persons. 

Iphigenia. 

Thoas,  King  of  Tauris. 

Orestes. 

Pylades. 

Ark  as. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I.    Grove  before  the  Temple  of  Diana. 

Here  in  thy  shadow,  old  and  sacred  grove, 

Dense-leaved,  whose  crested  tops  sway  to  the  breeze, 

As  in  Diana's  quiet  sanctuary, 

E'en  now  I  tread  with  shuddering  sense  of  dread, 

As  though  I  now  first  trod  this  hallowed  ground 

And  was  not  wont  in  spirit  here  to  muse. 

For  many  a  year  a  higher  power  has  kept 

Me  here  concealed  ;  obedient  I  submit : 

Yet  ever,  as  at  first,  my  soul's  estranged. 

For  Oh  !  the  sea  keeps  me  from  those  I  love 

And  on  the  shore  the  live  long  day  I  stand, 

In  spirit  seeking  Greece,  my  native  laud  ; 

And  ever  'gainst  my  sighs  the  roaring  waves 

Bring  back  a  hollow  sound.    Unhappy  he 

Who  far  from  home  and  kin,  in  solitude 


A  fruitless  life  exhales  !    Him  grief  consumes 

And  from  his  lips  the  cup  of  present  joy 

Removes.    His  thoughts,  like  swarming  bees,  fly  on 

His  father's  halls  to  reach,  where  first  the  sun 

Revealed  to  him  the  heavens,  where  with  mates 

Of  childhood's  happy  days,  close  and  more  close 

The  bands  of  love  were  drawn.    Not  with  the  gods 

Do  I  contend  ;  yet  woman's  lot  is  sad. 

In  peace  and  war  man  ever  reigns  supreme, 

And  in  a  foreign  land  can  hew  his  way. 

Possessions  cheer  him,  victory  crowms  his  head, 

A  glorious  death  awaits  him  at  life's  close. 

How7  narrow  is  the  sphere  of  womankind  ! 

A  boorish  husband  to  obey  perforce, 

Her  duty  and  her  cheer.    How  wretched  she 

When  cruel  fate  pursues  her  in  her  flight  ! 

So  Thoas,  noble  man,  doth  hold  me  here 

A  slave,  in  bonds  of  holy  servitude. 

Oh  !  shame  !  Must  I  confess  to  thee  Oh  !  Goddess, 

Deliv'rer  mine,  that  in  my  secret  breast 

Aversion  to  thy  service  dwells,  wherein 

Devotion  should  be  full  and  free  ?    Yet  now 

In  thee  I've  hoped  and  still  do  hope  in  thee, 

Diana,  in  wThose  tender,  holy  arms 

The  out-cast  daughter  of  the  greatest  king 

Was  safely  borne  away.    Yea,  daughter  Zeus', 

If  thou  didst  wring  the  heart  of  that  proud  man, 

Demanding  then  his  child  for  sacrifice, 

And  he  his  dearest  to  thine  altar  brought, — 

If  now  the  godlike  Agamemnon  thou 

From  Troy's  encircling  walls  hast  safe  restored, 

With  glory,  to  his  native  land, — the  wife 


4 


And  son,  Electra  and  the  beauteous  hoards 
Hast  well  preserved  for  him  ;  so  grant  that  I 
May  once  again  to  mine  at  last  return  ; 
As  thou  hast  saved  me  from  an  awful  death 
So  save  me  now  from  this  abhorred  life, 
To  me  a  second  death. 

Scene  II.    Iphigenia.  Arkas. 

Arkas.  The  king  hath  sent  me  hither  and  presents 
A  health  and  greeting  to  Diana's  priestess. 
This  is  the  day  that  Tauris  celebrates, 
And  thanks  the  gods  for  victories  new  and  strange. 
I  speed  before  the  king  and  all  his  host 
To  tell  thee  that  he  comes,  his  army's  nigh. 

Iph.      We  are  prepared  right  worth' ly  to  receive  them, 
And  our  goddess  turns  an  aspect  kind 
On  offerings  made  by  Thoas'  willing  hands. 

Arkas.  Could  I  but  see  thine  aspect  cheered  with  light, 
Thou  worthy  priestess  of  this  honored  shrine, 
Oh,  holy  virgin,  then  thy  glance  benign, 
On  us,  on  all,  with  brighter  radiance  beaming, 
A  token  were  of  good  !    But  now  doth  grief 
Mysterious  shroud  thine  inmost  soul  in  gloom. 
In  vain  we've  waited  all  these  weary  years 
To  hear  one  word  of  comfort  from  thy  breast. 
As  long  as  I  have  known  thee  in  this  place 
This  is  the  glance  'neath  which  I  ever  shrink 
With  dread  ;  and  as  with  bands  of  steel  thy  soul 
Is  held  within  thy  bosom  firmly  bound. 

Iph.       As  well  befits  the  exiled,  orphaned  one. 

Arkas.  Deem'st  thou  thyself  an  exile  here — an  orphan? 


5 


Iph.       Can  foreign  strands  be  native  lands  for  us? 

Arkas.  Foreign  to  thee  thy  native  land  became. 

Iph.       'Tis  so  ;  hence  bleeds  my  wounded  heart  unstanched. 
In  early  youth  ere  yet  th'  unfolding  mind 
Perceived  parental  bonds  and  family  ties, 
E'en  when  the  tender  shoots,  conjoined  and  lovely, 
Strove  from  the  root  of  parent  stem  to  rise, 
E'en  then  alas  !  the  curse  descending  fell 
And  severing  me  from  mine,  with  ruthless  blow 
The  union  tore  asunder.    Vanished  then 
Best  joy  of  youth  and  weal  of  early  years. 
Thou  saved,  the  merest  shadow  of  myself 
I  was,  and  ne'er  again  within  my  breast 
Welled  up  the  living  springs  of  fresh  desire. 

Arkas.  If  thus  unhappy  thou  thyself  wilt  name 

Then  truly  I  dare  name  thee  thankless  too. 

Iph.       Thanks  have  you  aye. 

Arkas.  But  not  unblemished  thanks, 

Whose  virtue  'tis  with  kindness  to  requite  ; 
To  show  the  host  a  joyous  countenance, 
A  sign  to  him  of  a  contented  life 
And  loving  heart.    When  many  years  ago 
A  deep  mysterious  fate  to  this  our  fane 
Brought  thee,  then  Thoas  came,  as  one  God-given, 
To  meet  thee  here  with  reverence  and  obeisance. 
Friendly  and  kind  thou  foundest  then  this  shore, 
Which  erst  with  dread  each  hapless  stranger  filled  ; 
Before  thee  none  set  foot  upon  this  land, 
Who  fell  not  prone  on  Dian's  altar  stairs 
A  blood)^  sacrifice  : — such  custom  ruled. 

Iph.       It  is  not  all  of  life  to  freely  breathe  ; 

What  life  is  this,  that  in  this  holy  place 


I  like  a  ghost  beside  the  grave  must  mourn. 
Can  that  be  called  a  conscious  happy  life 
When  every  day  in  fruitless  dreaming  spent 
Is  but  the  prelude  to  that  dreadful  day 
When,  wrapt  oblivious,  on  L,ethean  shores 
The  mournful  legions  of  the  lost  are  ranked  ? 
A  useless  life  is  but  an  early  death  ; 
Such  woman's  fate,  alas  i  is  mine  alone. 
Arkas.  The  noble  pride  which  bars  contentment's  way 
I  can  forgive,  tho'  much  I  pity  thee  ; 
It  robs  thee  of  enjoyment  of  thy  life. 
And  nothing  hast  thou  done  since  coming  here  ? 
Who  then  the  king's  dark  soul  has  cheered  with  light  ? 
Whose  soft  persuasive  voice  from  year  to  year 
Has  stayed  the  cruel  hand  of  custom  old 
Which  at  Diana's  altar  called  for  blood 
Of  every  stranger  ?    Who  from  certain  death 
Released  the  captives  and  so  oft  restored 
Them  to  their  native  land  ?    Her  wrath  appeased, 
Tho'  thus  deprived  of  bloody  sacrifice, 
Hath  not  Diana  heard  thy  tender  prayer  ? 
And  doth  not  victory  hover  o'er  the  host 
In  joyous  flight,  and  hasten  on  before  ? 
Hath  not  a  better  lot  befallen  each, 
Now  that  the  king,  our  ruler  wise  and  brave, 
Basks  in  the  sunshine  of  thy  presence  mild 
And  light  for  us  hath  made  the  load  of  duty 
In  silence  to  obey  ?    Canst  thou  lament 
That  life  as  fruitless  which  on  thousands  drops 
A  dew  balsamic,  and  unfailing  source 
Of  joy  becomes  to  animate  anew 
The  people  whom  a  god  hath  blessed  in  thee — 


7 


And  on  th'  inhospitable  shore  of  death 

The  stranger  saves  and  sends  him  home  in  peace  ? 

Iph.       In  vaster  vision  of  the  field  beyond, 

The  least  is  lost  to  view  and  seems  as  naught. 

Arkas.  Dost  praise  the  man  who  values  not  his  work  ? 

Iph.       Who  weighs  his  deeds  is  held  in  light  esteem. 

Arkas.  He  too,  who  proud,  true  worth  esteemeth  not, 
As  well  as  he  who  idly  lauds  the  false. 
Believe  me  and  heed  well  the  word  of  one 
In  truth  and  honor  to  thy  service  bound  : 
When  on  this  day  the  king  would  speak  to  thee, 
Enkindle  thou  his  thought  with  thy  keen  wit. 

Iph.       Thou  grievest  me  with  every  kindly  word, 

Oft  have  I  sought  his  tiresome  plea  to  evade. 

Arkas.  Consider  what  thou  dost  and  how  to  thrive. 

E'er  since  the  king  hath  lost  his  son  in  death, 
He  trusts  but  few  of  all  his  former  friends 
And  e'en  these  few  no  longer  as  of  old. 
Suspicious,  he  in  every  noble's  son 
Successor  to  his  kingdom  sees  :  he  fears 
Old  age,  helpless,  alone,  perchance  he  fears 
Revolt  audacious  and  untimely  death. 
The  Scythian  recks  not  of  polite  address, 
Nor  does  the  king.    Accustomed  to  command 
And  act,  he  knows  not  how  to  turn  his  speech 
In  fine  set  phrase,  by  indirection  slow 
His  purpose  to  unfold.    Increase  not  thou 
The  burden  of  his  tongue  by  coy  refusal, 
By  false  conception  purposely  assumed. 
Complaisant  go  to  meet  him  half  the  way. 

Iph.       Shall  I  then  hasten  that  which  threatens  me  ? 

Arkas.  Wilt  thou  his  wooing  call  a  threat  ? 

8 


Iph.       Before  all  else  a  threat  most  terrible. 

Arkas.  Confide  in  him  when  he  inclines  to  thee. 

Iph.       When  first  he  doth  my  soul  from  fear  set  free. 

Arkas.  Why  dost  thine  origin  from  him  conceal? 

Iph.       In  mystery  a  priestess  loves  to  dwell. 

Arkas.  No  mystery  should  be  about  the  king. 

E'en  though  he  ask  not  why,  yet  still  he  feels 
And  feels  it  in  the  depths  of  his  great  soul, 
That  warily  thou  dost  guard  thyself  from  him. 

Iph.       Doth  he  against  me  foster  wrath  and  gloom  ? 

Arkas.  It  seemeth  nearly  so.    Of  thee  indeed 

He  speaketh  not,  yet  divers  words  let  fall 

Have  me  apprised  that  rooted  in  his  mind 

The  wish  is  held  to  have  thee  for  his  own.  Leave, 

Oh,  leave  him  not  abandoned  to  himself ! 

Lest  melancholy  ripen  in  his  breast 

And  bring  upon  thee  horror  and  dismay, 

And  thou  too  late  my  honest  words  wilt  rue. 

Iph.       How  ?    Meditates  the  king,  what  no  true  man 
Who  loves  his  name  and  renders  to  the  gods 
Their  reverence  due,  should  ever  hold  in  thought  ? 
Thinks  he  with  violence  to  drag  me  hence 
From  th' altar  to  his  bed?    On  all  the  gods 
I  call  and  chiefly  on  Diana  chaste, 
The  virgin  goddess  resolute,  who  sure 
Will  swiftly  come  her  priestess  to  defend. 

Arkas.  Be  calm  !    No  fever  in  the  blood  inflames 
The  king  to  execute  so  rash  a  deed 
Of  untamed  youth.    His  resolution  harsh 
I  fear  is  set  on  other  means  his  end 
Unchecked  to  reach  ;  firm  and  immovable 
He's  fixed.    I  pray  thee  therefore,  if  no  more 


9 


Thou  canst  bestow,  thou  fail  not  to  impart 
To  him  thy  confidence  and  gratitude. 

Iph.       Oh  say,  I  beg,  what  more  is  known  to  thee. 

Arkas.  Learn  it  from  him.    I  see  the  king  approach  : 
Thou  dost  revere  him,  and  thine  own  true  heart 
Doth  prompt  thee  to  bestow  a  greeting  kind 
And  cordial.    A  noble,  generous  man 
By  woman's  gentle  speech  is  guided  far. 

Iph.       In  truth,  this  trusty  friend's  advice  to  heed, 
{alone)  j  know  not  how  ;  yet  gladly  I  avow, 

That  favors  of  the  king  a  grateful  word 

From  me  demand.    Whate'er  his  highness  please, 

My  sole  wish  is  to  answer  him  with  truth. 


Scene  III.    Iphigenia.  Thoas. 

Iph.       With  regal  gifts  the  goddess  thee  endow  ! 

May  she  with  victory  and  glory  crown  thee, 
And  riches  and  the  welfare  of  thy  realm, 
And  every  pious  wish  in  fulness  grant  ! 
That  as  thy  careful  sway  extends  o'er  all, 
So  may  the  rarest  bliss  of  all  be  thine. 

Thoas.   Content  were  I,  if  my  own  people  praised  me. 
What  I  have  gained,  by  others  is  enjoyed 
More  amply  than  by  me.    Most  fortunate 
Is  he,  who,  be  he  king  or  commoner, 
Finds  all  things  in  his  house  established  well. 
In  my  deep  grief  thou  didst  participate 
When  at  my  side,  the  hostile  sword  bereft 
Me  of  my  son,  the  last  and  best  of  all. 
As  long  as  vengeful  fury  filled  my  soul 
I  recked  not  of  my  hearth  all  desolate. 


IO 


But  now,  that  sated,  I  return,  the  foe 

Of  his  possessions  spoiled,  my  son  avenged, 

Nothing  at  home  remains  to  cheer  my  heart. 

The  glad  obedience  which  once  I  saw 

In  every  eye  shine  forth,  is  now  dedimmed 

With  care,  and  with  dejected  mien  is  mute. 

What  store  the  future  hath,  is  each  one's  thought  : 

Obeys  the  childless  king,  because  he  must. 

Now  then  I  come  to-day  within  this  fane, 

Oft  trod  by  me,  to  pray  for  victory, 

As  well  for  victory  to  offer  thanks. 

A  wish,  long  held,  I  in  my  bosom  bear, 

To  thee  not  new  nor  unforseen  :  I  hope 

To  lead  thee  hence,  a  bride,  to  my  abode, 

To  bless  my  people  and  myself  to  bless. 

Iph.       For  one  unknown  thy  proffer  is  too  high, 
O  king.    Before  thee  stands  the  fugitive 
Ashamed,  who  seeks  naught  else  upon  this  shore 
But  safety  and  repose,  which  thou  hast  given. 

Thoas.  By  none  would  it  be  held  as  right  and  just 
That  thou  in  mystery  of  thy  origin 
Dost  ever  veil  thyself  from  me  and  mine. 
This  shore  in  strangers  doth  inspire  dread  ; 
Necessity  and  law  demand  it  both. 
From  thee  alone,  who  every  pious  right 
In  fulness  doth  enjoy,  a  guest  received 
By  us  with  favour,  who  doth  spend  her  days 
According  to  her  own  good  will  and  choice, 
From  thee  I  hoped  to  have  the  confidence 
Which  every  faithful  host  ma}7  well  expect. 

Iph.       If  I  my  father's  name  and  home  have  hid, 
Oh,  King  :  'twas  due  to  my  perplexity, 


1 1 


Not  my  mistrust.    If  thou,  alas  !  didst  know 

Who  stands  before  thee  and  what  cursed  head 

Thou  nourishest  and  dost  protect,  perchance 

A  horror  would  thy  great  heart  strangely  chill 

And  thou,  instead  of  offering  me  thy  throne 

To  share,  wouldst  drive  me  hence  betimes  expelled 

Out  of  thy  realm  ;  perchance, — ere  destiny 

Should  fix  for  me  the  day  of  my  return, 

With  joy  my  own  to  meet,  and  see  the  end 

Of  all  my  wanderings, — wouldst  thrust  me  on 

To  wretchedness  which  everywhere  awaits 

The  outcast  rover  as  with  icy  hand 

The  affrighted  stranger  greets  the  vagabond. 

Thoas.   Whate'er  the  counsel  of  the  gods  involve, 
Whate'er  their  purpose  be  concerning  thee 
And  thine  own  house,  yet  since  thou  dwell' st  with  us 
And  privilege  of  pious  guest  enjoyest, 
No  lack  I've  felt  in  blessings  from  above. 
'Twere  not  an  easy  task  me  to  convince 
That  I  in  thee  a  guilty  head  protect. 

Iph.       Thy  benefactions  bless  thee,  not  thy  guest. 

Thoas.  What's  done  to  wicked  ones  is  never  blest ; 
Therefore  thy  secrets  and  denials  cease  ; 
With  no  injustice  make  I  this  demand. 
Into  my  hands  the  goddess  thee  delivered. 
As  thou  to  her  wast  holy,  so  wast  thou 
To  me.    Henceforward  be  her  nod  my  law. 
If  thou  canst  hope  to  see  thy  home  again 
Then  I  release  thee  from  all  further  claim. 
Yet  now  to  thee  the  way's  forever  barred, 
And  be  thy  race  expelled  from  out  the  land 
Or  through  perdition  vast  forever  lost, 

12 


So  art  thou  mine  by  more  than  one  plain  law. 
Speak  freely  then,  thou  know'st  I'll  naught  reveal. 

Iph.       From  ancient  ban  unwillingly  the  tongue 
Is  loosed,  a  long-kept  secret  to  disclose 
At  last,  which,  once  confided,  doth  forsake, 
Ne'er  to  return,  its  dwelling  place  secure 
Within  the  soul's  profoundest  depths, — goes  forth 
To  hurt  or  save,  as  wTill  the  gods  above. 
Know  then  :  I'm  sprung  from  race  of  Tantalus. 

Thoas.   Thou  utterest  a  pregnant  word  unmoved. 
Dost  thou  name  him  as  thy  progenitor, 
Who,  world-famed,  once  in  favour  high  was  held 
By  all  the  gods  ?    Is  it  that  Tantalus 
Whom  Jove  to  counsel  and  his  table  drew, 
In  whose  well-knit  discourse,  of  meaning  full 
And  wide  experience  the  gods  themselves 
As  in  an  oracle  delighted  were  ? 

Iph.       E'en  he  it  is  ;  but  gods  should  ne'er  with  men 
Associate  as  equals  with  themselves  ; 
For  mortal  man  is  far  too  weak,  his  place 
In  unaccustomed  heights  undazed  to  held. 
Ignoble  was  he  not  and  traitor  none  : 
Too  great  to  be  a  slave  and  yet  mere  man 
In  company  of  mighty,  thundering  Jove. 
His  fault  was  human  then  ;  its  doom  severe, 
And  poets  sing  :  Through  pride  and  perfidy 
He  fell  headlong,  disgraced,  from  festive  board 
Of  Jove,  adown  to  ancient  Tartarus. 
Alas,  and  his  whole  race  have  borne  their  hate  ! 

Thoas.   Borne  for  their  fore-bear's  guilt  or  for  their  own? 

Iph.       'Tis  true,  to  all  his  sons  and  grandsons  fell, 
By  sure  inheritance,  the  breast  of  strength 


13 


And  powerful  pith  of  Titans  ;  yet  the  god 

Around  their  foreheads  forged  a  band  of  brass, 

And  from  their  furtive,  gloomy  glance  concealed 

The  law  of  reason,  wisdom,  self-control. 

With  them  each  separate  wish  absorbed  the  soul, 

And  boundless  ranged  their  fury  far  and  near. 

First  Pelops,  he  whose  will  all  things  essayed, 

Beloved  son  of  Tantalus,  obtained 

Through  treachery  and  blood,  that  peerless  dame, 

The  CEnomaean  Hippodamia. 

Her  consort's  wish  to  fill  she  bore  two  sons, 

Thyestes,  Atreus.    With  envy  they 

Observed  their  father's  love  for's  eldest  son, 

Born  of  a  former  wife.    In  hatred  joined 

The  pair  in  secret  ventured  their  first  deed 

In  fratricide.    On  Hippodamia 

The  father  rests  suspicion  of  the  crime, 

And  in  his  rage  demands  of  her  his  son. 

She  slays  herself — 

Thoas.  Art  dumb  ?    Proceed  ! 

Repent  not  of  thy  trust  reposed  in  me  :  Speak  ! 

Iph.       How  happy  he  who  gladly  calls  to  mind 

His  ancestors,  recounts  with  pride  their  deeds 

And  fame,  and  secretly  exults  to  see 

Himself  at  end  of  this  illustrious  line  ! 

It  falls  not  to  a  single  race  alike, 

Now  demigods,  now  monsters  to  beget  ; 

For  first  a  line  of  evil  ones,  or  good, 

Brings  forth  to  view  at  last  a  progeny 

Of  horror  or  of  jo3T.    Their  father  dead, 

Atreus  and  Thyest'  in  common  rule 

The  city  held.    The  concord  could  not  long 


14 


Abide.    Thyestes  soon  his  brother's  bed 

Dishonored.    Avenging  Atreus  drove  him  forth 

Out  of  the  realm.    Long  time  before,  Thyestes, 

On  mischief  bent,  with  purpose  fell  intent, 

Had  stolen  his  brother's  son,  and  secretly 

With  much  caress  had  raised  him  as  his  own. 

He  fills  his  breast  with  fury  and  revenge 

And  sends  him  to  the  palace  of  the  king 

To  slay,  as  uncle,  his  own  royal  sire. 

The  purpose  of  the  youth  disclosed,  the  king 

Upon  the  would-be  murderer  inflicts 

A  cruel  punishment,  believing  then 

That  his  own  brother's  son  is  slain.    Too  late 

He  learns,  who  perishes  in  torments  there 

Before  his  drunken  eyes.    Revengeful  fire 

Within  his  breast  to  quench,  in  silence  he 

Resolves  on  deed  unheard  before.    He  seems 

Resigned,  indifferent,  appeased, — allures 

His  brother  with  his  sons,  into  the  realm 

Again,  lays  hold  upon  the  youthful  twain, 

Slays  them  and  sets  the  loathsome,  horrid  food 

Before  the  father  at  the  first  repast. 

Now  when  Thyestes'  hunger  was  appeased 

With  his  own  flesh,  oppressed  with  gloom,  and  sad, 

He  asks  to  see  his  boys,  whose  tread,  whose  voice 

At  threshold  of  the  hall  he  seems  to  hear, — 

Then  Atreus  with  horrid  grin  throws  down 

To  him  the  head  and  feet  of  those  he  slew — 

With  horror  thou  dost  turn  thy  face,  oh,  king  ! 

So  let  the  sun  in  heaven  turn  his  face, 

And  chariot  turn  from  his  eternal  course  ! 

These  are  thy  priestess'  ancestors,  oh,  king. 

15 


And  many  a  fateful,  hapless  doom  of  men, 

And  many  a  deed  of  the  perverted  mind, 

Night,  with  her  heavy  wings,  o'erspreads  and  grants 

Us  dimly  to  behold  in  hideous  gloom. 

Thoas.   So,  too,  in  silence  let  them  rest.  Enough 

Of  horrors  !  Yet  declare,  through  what  strange  freak 
Hast  thou  from  such  wild  stem  burst  forth  to  view. 

Iph.       Atreus'  eldest  son  was  Agamemnon  ; 

He  is  my  father.    Yet,  I  dare  to  say  it, 

In  him  have  I,  e'er  since  my  earliest  days, 

A  pattern  of  the  perfect  man  beheld. 

To  him  was  I  by  Clytsemnesta  brought, 

Firstling  of  love  ;  Electra  then.    In  peace 

The  king  bore  sway,  and  Tantal's  house  at  last 

Long  needed  rest  enjoyed.    A  son  alone 

Was  wanting  to  complete  the  parents'  bliss, 

And  scarce  was  this  desire  fulfilled  and  'twixt 

The  sisters  both,  Orestes,  darling:  child, 

Grew  up  apace,  that  other  ill  arose 

As  menace  to  the  safety  of  the  house. 

The  rumor  of  that  war  has  come  to  thee, 

In  which,  to  avenge  the  rape  of  fairest  one 

Of  womankind,  the  universal  might 

Of  Grecian  chiefs  besieged  the  walls  of  Troy. 

Have  they  attained  the  goal  of  their  revenge, 

And  won  the  citadel  of  Troy,  I  know  not. 

My  father  led  the  Grecian  hosts.    In  Aulis 

They  waited  for  a  favoring  wind  in  vain  ; 

For,  angry  with  their  potent  chief,  Diana 

Delayed  them  in  their  haste,  demanding  then 

Thro'  Kalchas'  mouth,  the  chieftain's  eldest  daughter. 

Me  with  my  mother  they  allured  to  camp  ; 

16 


They  dragged  me  to  the  altar  and  this  head 
Devoted  to  the  goddess.    She  appeased, 
Demanded  not  my  blood,  and  quick  to  save, 
Concealed  me  in  a  cloud  ;  in  this  same  temple 
I  first  from  death  awoke  to  consciousness. 
Herself  I  am — am  Iphigenia, 
Who  speaks  to  thee,  grand-child  of  Atreus, 
Agamemnon's  child — to  Dian  consecrate. 

Thoas.   No  greater  preference  and  trust  I  grant 

To  daughter  of  the  king  than  to  th'  unknown. 

My  first  proposal  I  reiterate  : 

Come,  follow  me  and  share  whate'er  I  have. 

Iph.       How  dare  I  venture  such  a  step,  Oh,  king? 

Hath  not  the  goddess  who  hath  saved,  alone 
The  right  to  hold  my  consecrated  life  ? 
She  hath  a  place  of  safety  sought  for  me, 
And  she  doth  keep  me  for  a  father  here 
Whom  she,  to  outward  seeming,  hath  chastised 
Enough,  chastised  perchance  for  sweetest  joy 
Of  his  old  age.    Perchance  for  me  is  nigh 
The  glad  return  ;  and  I,  regarding  not 
Her  way,  should  bind  myself  against  her  will  ? 
A  sign  I  seek,  if  duty  'tis  to  stay. 

Thoas.   This  is  the  sign,  that  thou  dost  here  abide. 

Seek  not  with  anxious  mind  such-like  escape. 
Few  words  are  needed  to  deny  a  plea  ; 
When  all  is  said,  the  "  No  "  alone  is  heard. 

Iph.       No  idle  words  I  speak  to  blind  the  sense  ; 
I  have  revealed  to  thee  my  deepest  heart, 
And  wilt  thou  not  to  thine  own  self  confess, 
How  I  with  anxious  mind  must  long  to  see 
My  father,  mother,  and  my  kindred  dear  ? 


17 


That  in  the  ancient  halls,  where  sadness  now 
Doth  oft  in  silence  whisper  soft  my  name, 
Joy  might,  as  for  a  child  new  born,  intwine 
Her  fairest  wreath  from  pillar  unto  pillar. 
Oh,  wouldst  thou  thither  send  me  sailing  forth  ! 
New  life  thou  wouldst  bestow  on  me,  on  all. 

Thoas.  So  then  return  !    Do  what  thy  heart  commands, 
Be  deaf  to  reason's  voice  and  good  advice. 
Be  woman  all  and  to  that  impulse  yield 
Which  seizes  thee  unchecked  and  drags  thee  on, 
Now  here,  now  there.    When  once  a  wish  inflames 
The  breast,  no  sacred  bond  can  hold  her  back 
From  the  betrayer  who  would  lure  her  hence 
From  father  or  betrothed,  lure  her  from  arms 
Long  tried  and  true  ;  and  glows  within  her  breast 
The  hidden  fire,  persuasion's  golden  tongue 
On  her  is  spent  in  vain,  though  true  and  strong. 

Iph.       Bethink  thee,  king,  of  thine  own  generous  word  ! 
Wilt  thou  my  trust  repay  in  terms  like  these  ? 
Thou  wast  prepared,  methought  to  learn  the  whole. 

Thoas.  For  th'  unexpected  I  was  not  prepared  ; 

And  yet  I  should  have  been  :  did  I  not  know 
That  with  a  woman  I  engaged  to  deal  ? 

Iph.       Chide  not  our  miserable  sex,  oh  king. 

A  woman's  weapons,  though  not  grand  like  thine, 
Are  not  ignoble.    This  believe, — and  here 
I  have  the  advantage  over  thee — that  I 
Thy  happiness  know  better  than  thyself. 
Not  knowing  thine  own  self  nor  me,  thou  think 'st 
A  closer  bond  would  bring  us  greater  joy. 
With  courage  high,  as  well  as  good  intent, 
Thou  urgest  me  to  join  my  hand  in  wedlock  ; 

iS 


And  here  I  thank  the  gods  that  they  have  given 

To  me  the  firmness  to  refuse  consent 

To  enter  into  bonds  which  they  approve  not. 

Thoas.  No  god,  but  thine  own  heart  it  is,  that  speaks. 

Iph.       Through  our  own  hearts  alone  they  speak  to  us. 

Thoas.  And  have  I  not  the  right  to  hear  them  too  ? 

Iph.       The  storm  of  passion  drowns  the  still  small  voice. 

Thoas.  The  priestess  hears  the  voice  alone — not  so  ? 

Iph.       Before  all  men,  the  prince  should  mark  it  well. 

Thoas.  Thy  holy  office  and  thy  sure  birthright 

To  sit  with  Jove,  brings  thee  to  gods  more  near 
Than  earthborn  son  of  Scythian  wilds. 

Iph.  So  I 

Atone  the  trust,  which  thou  hast  wrung  from  me. 

Thoas.  I  am  a  man  ;  and  better  'tis  we  end. 

Let  this  then  be  my  word  :    Be  priestess  here 

To  Dian,  goddess  who  hath  chosen  thee  ; 

Yet  now  her  pardon  I  implore,  that  I, 

Unjustly  and  with  secret  qualms,  till  now 

Have  kept  from  her  her  ancient  sacrifice. 

The  stranger  fares  but  ill  who  nears  our  shores  ; 

His  fate  has  ever  been  a  certain  death. 

'Twas  thou  alone,  who  with  a  tenderness, 

As  with  a  charm,  so  captive  held  me  fast, 

That  I  my  duty  all  forgot  ;  with  joy 

I  saw  in  that  same  tenderness  a  love 

Now  gentle  as  a  child's,  alluring  then, 

Like  to  the  silent  yielding  of  a  bride. 

My  senses  thou  didst  soothe  and  lull  to  sleep, 

My  people's  murmurings  I  heeded  not ; 

But  now  on  me  and  me  alone  they  lay 

The  blame  of  my  dear  son's  untimely  death. 


19 


No  longer  for  thy  sake  will  I  restrain 
The  surging  mob  demanding  sacrifice. 

Iph.       For  my  sake  I  have  ne'er  desired  it. 

He  misconceives  the  heavenly  powers,  who  thinks 
They  thirst  for  blood  ;  he  but  ascribes  to  them 
His  own  dark  thoughts  and  horrid  lusts.    Did  not 
The  goddess  snatch  me  from  the  priest  ?    To  her 
My  service  was  more  grateful  than  my  death. 

Thoas.  It  suits  us  ill  by  fickle  reasoning 

To  lightly  twist  and  turn  a  holy  usage 

According  to  our  whim.    Thy  duty  do, 

I  shall  do  mine.    Two  strangers  found  concealed 

Within  the  caverns  of  the  shore,  no  good 

Intending  to  my  land,  are  in  my  power. 

With  them  thy  goddess  may  again  receive 

Her  first  and  rightful  off' ring,  wanted  long  ! 

I'll  send  them  hither,  thou  dost  know  thine  office. 

Scenk  IV.    Iphigknia  {alone). 

Thou  hast  clouds,  oh,  gracious  savior  mine, 

To  enwrap  the  guiltless  persecuted  one 

And  on  winds  to  bear  her  from  the  arms 

Of  unyielding  fate,  o'er  trackless  seas, 

Over  earth's  wide  champaigns,  as  thou  wilt. 

Wise  thou  art  and  seest  futurity  ; 

Ever  present  is  the  past  to  thee, 

As  thy  light  enlivens  night  and  hovers 

Resting  o'er  the  earth's  remotest  glades, 

So  thy  glance  rests  on  thy  loved  ones  ever. 

Keep,  oh  ever  keep  my  hands  from  blood  stain  ! 

Peace  and  blessing  it  can  never  bring  us, 


20 


And  the  spectre  of  the  fated  slain  one 

E'er  in  evil  hour  lurks  and  follows 

In  the  surly  murderer's  path  to  fright  him. 

But  the  immortal  gods 

Ever  delight  in 

Virtuous  races 

Of  men  scattered  far, 

And  they  grant  gladly 

To  mortals  a  respite 

Of  life's  fleeting  day  ; 

From  their  eternal  seats 

Kindly  look  down  on  men, 

Gladly  they  grant  to  them 

Visions  of  heaven 

A  while  to  enjoy. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.    Orestes.  Pyiades. 

It  is  the  way  of  death  on  which  we  tread  : 

With  every  step  my  soul  becomes  more  calm. 

When  I  Apollo  prayed  to  banish  hence 

This  horrid  escort  of  avenging  furies, 

He  seemed  by  certain  hopeful  oracles 

To  promise  help  and  refuge  in  the  fane 

Of  his  beloved  sister,  who  holds  sway 

O'er  Tauris  ;  now  the  event  seems  to  portend 

That  with  my  life  all  pangs  shall  wholly  cease. 

How  easy  it  will  be  for  me,  whose  heart 

A  god  contracts,  the  sense  doth  stupify, 


2T 


Forever  to  renounce  the  light  of  day. 
And  if  the  sons  of  Atreus  in  the  fight 
No  more  shall  win  an  end  with  victor}-  crowned, — 
If  I  like  slaughtered  ox  in  wretched  death 
Must  bleed,  as  bled  my  father  and  his  line, 
So  be  it  !    Better  here  before  the  altar 
Than  in  abandoned  nook,  where  the  assassin, 
Though  near  of  kin,  the  deadly  meshes  spreads. 
Leave  me  a  while  in  peace,  infernal  powers, 
Ye  who  like  unleashed  hounds  with  eager  scent 
Set  on  the  blood,  which  from  my  steps  drops  down 
And  marks  my  path  !    Leave  me,  I'll  soon  descend 
To  you  ;  the  light  of  day  shall  not  see  you, 
Nor  me.    EarA's  blanket,  beautiful  and  green, 
Shall  be  no  gambol-place  for  hellish  masks. 
I'll  seek  you  there  below  ;  there  all  are  bound 
By  common  fate  in  lasting,  weary  night. 
But  thou,  my  Pylades,  thou,  innocent 
Companion  of  my  guilt  and  banishment, 
How  loath  am  I  to  take  thee  with  me  hence 
Before  thy  time,  into  yon  mournful  land  ! 
Thy  life  or  death  for  me  alone  hath  aught 
Of  hope  or  fear. 
Pylad.   I  am  not  yet  prepared,  like  thou,  Orestes, 
To  make  descent  into  that  realm  of  shades. 
I  still  expect,  through  these  entangled  paths, 
Which  seem  to  lead  us  on  to  blackest  night, 
To  wind  up  in  the  light  of  day  again. 
I  have  no  thought  of  death  ;  my  mind's  intent 
To  learn  what  ways  and  means  the  gods  devise 
To  compass  our  glad  deliverance. 
Death,  whether  feared  or  not,  comes  unrestrained. 

22 


When  once  the  priestess  raises  high  her  hand, 

In  consecrating  act  our  locks  to  sever, 

Then  shall  our  rescue  be  my  only  thought. 

Arouse  thy  soul  from  this  despondency  ; 

To  doubt  is  but  to  hasten  danger  on. 

We  have  Apollo's  word  :  for  thee  prepared 

In  sister's  sanctuary  is  relief 

And  consolation  and  a  safe  return. 

The  gods  speak  not  in  words  equivocal, 

As  one  oppressed  with  care  in  sadness  thinks. 

Orestes.  Around  my  head  in  tender  infancy 

My  mother  drew  the  veil  of  life  obscure ; 
And  so  I  grew  apace,  my  father's  image, — 
And  my  mute  glance  was  keen  reproach  to  her 
And  to  her  paramour.    How  oft  have  I, 
When  sister  mine,  Electra,  silent  sat 
Before  the  hearth,  deep  down  in  the  long  hall, 
Pressed  sad  into  her  lap,  and  on  her  gazed 
With  wonder-eyes,  as  bitter  tears  she  shed. 
Then  spoke  she  of  our  noble  father  much  ; 
Oh,  how  I  longed  to  see  him,  be  with  him  ! 
Anon  to  Troy  I  wished  to  go,  anon 
Wished  his  return.    Then  came  the  day — 

Pylad.    Oh,  let  hell's  ministers  divert  themselves 
With  nightly  rites  in  honor  of  that  day  ! 
Let  mem'ry  of  a  fairer  time  infuse 
In  us  new  strength  to  run  the  heroes'  course. 
The  gods  have  need  of  many  a  valiant  man 
Upon  this  earth  to  serve  their  high  behests. 
They  still  do  count  on  thee  ;  they  sent  not  thee 
Thy  father  to  attend  when  he  in  rage 
Descended  to  the  gloomy  shades  of  Orcus. 


Orestes.  Oh,  would  that  I,  his  mantle  holding  fast, 
Had  followed  him. 

Pylad.  Thus  they  who  held  thee  back 

Had  care  for  me  ;  for  what  I  had  become, 
Bereft  of  thee,  I  can  not  well  divine, 
Since  I  with  thee  and  for  thy  sake  alone, 
From  childhood  on,  do  live  and  wish  to  live. 

Orestes.  Remind  me  not  of  those  delightful  days, 

When  I  enjoyed  the  freedom  of  thy  house, 

Thy  noble  father  wise  and  merciful 

Did  foster  then  the  young  and  torpid  bloom  ; 

When  thou,  companion  ever  gay  and  lively, 

Like  to  a  brightly  colored  butterfly 

Around  a  darksome  flower,  each  day  didst  play 

Around  me  with  a  new  and  joyous  life, 

Didst  .so  inspirit  me  with  thy  glad  mood, 

That  I,  forgetting  my  distress,  with  thee 

In  youth's  mad  whirl  did  riot  forth  unchecked. 

Pylad.    Then  life  began  for  me,  when  I  loved  thee. 

Orestes.  Say  rather  :  my  distress,  and  thou  speak' st  true. 
This  is  the  very  poignancy  of  fate, 
That  I,  like  an  infected  fugitive, 
Bear  in  my  bosom  secret  pain  and  death  ; 
That  wheresoe'er  in  wholesome  place  I  tread, 
Too  soon  emerging  faces  pressing  round  me 
The  painful  progress  of  slow  death  betray. 

Pylad.    Sure  I  would  be  the  first  to  die  this  death, 
If  e'er  thy  breath,  Orestes,  poison  were. 
Am  I  not  ever  full  of  life  and  spirit  ? 
And  life  and  love  are  wings  on  which  we  rise 
To  noble  deeds. 

Orestes.  To  noble  deeds  ?    Oh,  yes, 


24 


I  know  the  time  when  we  saw  them  before  us  ! 
When  we  together  often  chased  the  game 
Through  hill  and  dale  and  hoped  some  day  e'en  so, 
Like  our  great  ancestor,  with  strength  and  might, 
With  club  and  sword,  to  fall  upon  the  track 
Of  monster  and  the  robber  ;  then  at  eve 
Beside  the  great  white  sea  we  quiet  sat 
Each  on  the  other  leaning,  as  the  waves 
Rolled  up  unto  our  very  feet, — the  world 
So  wide  expanded  all  before  us  lay  ! 
Then  many  a  time  indeed  we  drew  our  swords, 
And  future  deeds  thronged  round  us  like  the  stars 
In  countless  numbers  from  the  vault  of  night. 
Pylad.    Illimitable  is  the  work,  the  soul 

Strives  to  fulfill.    We  might  each  deed  perform 

In  magnitude  as  great  as  it  doth  grow 

When  mouth  of  poet  rolls  it  swelling  down 

For  ages  through  all  lands  and  peoples  vast. 

It  sounds  so  sweet  to  hear  a  harping  youth, 

When  resting  in  the  stilly  evening  shades, 

Lisp  to  the  harp-tones  our  forefathers'  deeds  ; 

And  what  we  do,  is,  as  it  was  to  them, 

All  toil  and  empty  job-work  ! 

So  run  we  after  that  which  flies  before  us, 

Unmindful  of  the  way  on  which  we  tread  ; 

And  see  not  our  ancestors'  steps  beside  us, 

Nor  mark  the  foot-prints  of  their  life  on  earth. 

With  eager  steps  we  ever  chase  their  shadow, 

Which  god-like  in  enchanting  distance  far 

The  mountain  top  with  golden  clouds  doth  crown. 

I  value  not  the  man  who  idly  thinks 

How  he  perchance  may  rise  among  his  kind. 


25 


But  thou,  Oh  youth,  be  thankful  to  the  gods, 
That  they  so  soon  through  you  so  much  have  done. 

Orestes.  When  they  on  man  the  joyful  boon  bestow, 
The  course  of  evil  from  his  race  to  turn, 
His  kingdom  to  enlarge,  its  bounds  secure, 
And  ancient  foes  in  battle  fall  or  flee, 
Then  let  him  thankful  be  ;  for  then  a  god 
Hath  granted  him  life's  first  and  last  desire. 
On  me  their  choice  has  fall'n  for  slaughter's  work, 
To  be  my  honored  mother's  murderer  ; 
Avenging  crime  with  crime,  my  doom  is  fixed  ; 
They've  marked  me  for  perdition.    Now  believe, 
That  judgment  rests  on  house  of  Tantalus, 
And  I,  the  last  one,  shall  not  guiltless  go, 
Nor  full  of  honors  pass  away. 

Pylad.  The  gods 

Avenge  not  on  the  son  the  father's  guilt  ; 
Each  one  receives  according  to  his  deeds 
His  just  reward,  and  be  he  good  or  bad. 
Our  parents'  blessing,  not  their  curse,  descends 
To  us. 

Orestes.  Their  blessing  leads  us  not  this  way,  it  seems. 

Pylad.    At  least  the  gods  who  dwell  on  high  so  will  it. 

Orestes.  It  is  their  will  therefore  that  ruins  us. 

Pylad.    Do  thou  what  they  command  thee  and  await. 
If  thou  dost  safely  carry  hence  his  sister 
Unto  Apollo,  and  they  both  united 
At  Delphi  dwell,  revered  by  people  there 
Whose  thoughts  are  heaven-born,  then  for  this  deed 
Th'  exalted  pair  will  gracious  be  to  thee 
And  rescue  thee  from  the  infernal  powers. 
E'en  here  within  this  holy  fane  none  venture. 

26 


Orestes.  So  I  at  least  shall  have  a  tranquil  death. 

Pylad.    I  think  quite  otherwise,  and  not  inapt 
Have  I  combined  and  secretly  conjoined 
What's  past  and  done  with  that  which  is  to  come. 
Perhaps  the  great  work  has  been  ripening 
In  counsel  of  the  gods.    Diana  longs 
To  be  away  from  this  wild  barbarous  shore 
And  all  its  bloody  human  sacirfice. 
We  were  ordained  to  do  this  glorious  deed, 
On  us  the  work  is  laid,  and  strange  the  way 
By  which  we've  come  perforce  unto  these  gates. 

Orestes.  With  rare  and  subtle  skill  thou  weav'st  in  one 
The  counsel  of  the  gods  and  thine  own  wishes. 

Pylad.    What  is  man's  wisdom,  if  it  yieldeth  not 
Attentive  ear  to  purposes  divine  ? 
To  deed  of  greatest  weight  a  god  hath  called 
The  noble  man,  who  much  hath  sinned,  and  laid 
On  him  what  seems  to  us  an  endless  task. 
The  hero  conquers,  and,  his  guilt  atoned, 
Serves  gods  and  men,  who  honor  him  alike. 

Orestes.  If  I  am  called  to  live  and  to  perform, 

Then  let  some  god  expel  from  my  dull  brain 
The  dizziness,  which  on  the  slippery  path, 
Besprinkled  with  my  mother's  blood,  drags  me 
To  death.    Let  him  with  gracious  hand  estop 
The  springs  which  from  my  mother's  gaping  wounds 
Flow  towards  me  and  forever  stain  my  soul. 

Pylad.    Await  it  calmly  !    Thou  augmentst  the  ill 
And  takest  on  thyself  the  Furies'  part. 
Be  mine  the  task  to  think  ;  be  still  !    At  last, 
When  action  doth  demand  united  strength, 
Then  I  will  call  thee  up,  and  we  as  one 


27 


With  all-surpassing  might  will  boldly  stride 
To  consummation. 
Orestes.  I  hear  Ulysses  speak. 

Pylad.  Nay,  mock  me  not. 

Each  one  must  choose  his  hero,  after  whom, 
Upon  the  path  to  high  Olympus,  he 
Must  toiling  go.    Let  this  be  granted  me  : 
I  hold  that  craft  and  cunning  ne'er  disgrace 
The  man  whose  life  to  valorous  deeds  are  given. 

Orestes.  I  value  him  who  brave  and  upright  is. 

Pylad.   Therefore  I  have  not  sought  advice  of  thee. 

One  step  is  ta'en  already.    From  our  guards 

I  have  till  now  much  useful  knowledge  drawn. 

I  know,  a  foreign,  godlike  woman  holds 

That  bloody  law  enchained  ;  a  stainless  heart 

And  incense,  prayer,  she  offers  to  the  gods. 

Her  virtue  is  wTorld-famed  ;  'tis  thought  she's  sprung 

From  stock  of  Amazons,  has  fled  her  country 

To  avoid  some  great  and  threatening  ill. 

Orestes.  It  seems  her  spotless  reign  hath  lost  its  power 

Through  near  approach  of  guilty  wretch,  whose  curse 
Pursues  and  covers  him  like  wide-spread  night. 
The  pious  thirst  for  blood  will  yet  unloose 
The  ancient  custom  from  its  chains  to  slay  us. 
The  savage-thoughted  king  marks  us  for  death ; 
A  woman  will  not  save  us,  when  he's  roused. 

Pylad.    'Tis  well  for  us  that  it  a  woman  is  ; 

A  man,  be  he  the  best,  inures  his  mind 

To  cruelty  and  for  himself  at  last 

Doth  make  a  law  from  that  which  he  abhors, 

Becomes  by  force  of  custom  harsh  and  strange. 

But  woman,  once  possessed,  will  ever  hold 


To  singleness  of  purpose  fast.    Thou  canst 

More  safely  count  on  her  in  good  and  ill. 

Be  still  !  She  comes  ;  leave  us  alone.    Not  now 

Dare  I  reveal  to  her  our  names,  nor  trust 

To  her  without  reserve  our  destiny. 

Go  thou,  and  ere  she  speaks  with  thee,  I'll  meet  thee. 

Scene:  II.    Ifhigknia.  Pyladks. 

Iph.       Oh  stranger,  whence  thou  art  and  comest,  speak  ! 

Methinks  that  I  should  sooner  liken  thee 

Unto  a  Grecian  than  a  Scythian  man. 
{Removes  his  chains.') 

There's  peril  in  the  freedom  which  I  give  ; 

The  gods  avert  the  ill  that  threatens  you  ! 
Pylad.    Oh  sweet  and  gentle  voice  !    Thrice  welcome  sound 

Of  mother  tongue  in  strange  and  foreign  land  ! 

Again  my  native  haven's  hills  so  blue 

Before  my  eyes,  a  captive,  I  behold 

And  welcome  them  anew.    Of  this,  thy  joy, 

Be  well  assured,  that  I  too  am  a  Greek  ! 

Thy  noble  presence  so  entranced  my  soul 

That  I  forgot  how  much  I  need  thine  aid. 

Oh,  say,  unless  some  fate  hath  closed  thy  lips, 

P'rom  which  of  all  our  tribes  dost  thou  derive 

Thy  origin  divine. 
Iph.       The  priestess,  by  her  goddess  very  self 

Elected  and  made  holy,  speaks  with  thee. 

Let  that  suffice  thee  ;  say,  then,  who  thou  art, 

And  what  unhappy  overruling  fate 

Hath  hither  brought  thee  with  thy  comrade  true. 
Pylad.    'Tis  easy  to  relate  what  grievous  ill 


29 


Pursues  us  with  oppressive  fellowship. 

Oh,  couldst  thou,  holy  one,  as  easily 

Impart  to  us  the  joyous  gleam  of  hope  ! 

From  Crete  are  we,  Adrastus'  sons,  well-born  : 

I  am  the  youngest  of  the  house  and  known 

As  Cephalus  and  he  Iyaodamas 

The  eldest.    'Twixt  us  stood  another  son, 

Uncouth  and  wild,  who  e'en  in  childhood's  play 

All  concord  and  enjoyment  rent  asunder. 

We  passively  obeyed  our  mother's  words, 

The  while  our  father's  might  waged  war  at  Troy  ; 

But  when  enriched  with  booty  he  returned 

And  soon  thereafter  passed  away,  then  strife 

For  rule  and  heritage  estranged  the  heirs. 

I  joined  the  fortunes  of  the  eldest  one. 

He  slew  his  brother.    For  the  guilt  of  blood 

The  furies  drive  him  on  from  place  to  place. 

And  yet  the  Delphian  Apollo  sends  us 

To  this  inhospitable  shore  with  hope. 

Here  in  the  temple  of  his  sister  he 

Commanded  us  to  wait  for  helping  hand 

Beneficent,    We  are  in  chains  and  brought 

Before  thee  here  for  sacrifice.    Thou  knowest. 

Iph.       Fell  Troy?    Dear  man,  assure  me. 

Pylad.    It  lies.    Oh,  promise  us  deliverance  ! 

Oh,  hasten  thou  the  succour  which  a  god 

Hath  promised  us  ;  and  pity  thou  my  brother. 

Speak  soon  to  him  some  kind  and  cheering  word  ; 

Yet  spare  him,  I  beseech  thee,  when  thou  speakest : 

For  'tis  his  sad  condition  that  his  mind 

Through  joy  and  pain  and  mem' ry's  power  is  moved 

Most  easily  and  in  confusion  thrown. 


30 


A  paroxysm  of  madness  seizes  him 
And  his  great  soul,  so  beautiful  and  free, 
Is  given  a  prey  to  Furies'  wrath  and  power. 
Iph.       Be  thy  misfortune  e'er  so  great,  yet  I 

Do  charge  thee  to  forget,  till  thou  hast  answered  me. 
Pylad.    The  lofty  citadel  which  ten  long  years 

Withstood  the  army  of  all  Greece  combined 
Lies  now  in  ruins  ne'er  again  to  rise. 
Yet  many  a  grave  of  our  most  valiant  men 
Doth  draw  our  thoughts  to  that  barbaric  shore. 
There  lies  Achilles  with  his  noble  friends. 
Iph.       Ye  images  of  gods  !    Ye  too  are  dust  ! 
Pylad.    And  Palamedes,  Ajax  Telamon, — 

They  never  saw  the  fatherland  again. 
Iph.       He  speaks  not  of  my  father,  names  him  not 

Among  the  slain.    He  lives  !    Still  lives  for  me  ! 
I  shall  behold  his  face.    O  hope,  dear  heart  ! 
Pylad.    Yet  blessed  are  the  thousands  who  have  died 
The  death  so  bitter-sweet  at  hand  of  foe  ; 
For  an  inimical  and  angry  god 
Prepared  for  the  returning  wanderers 
Wild  terrors  on  the  main  and  mournful  end 
In  triumph's  stead.    Doth  sound  of  human  voice 
Ne'er  come  to  thee?    As  far  as  it  doth  reach 
It  bears  the  rumor  round  of  unheard  deeds. 
So  then  the  lamentation  which  doth  fill 
Mycene's  halls  with  e'er-recurring  sighs 
Is  hid  from  thee?    For  with  iEgisthus'  aid, 
Her  spouse  by  Clytsemnestra  was  ensnared 
And  slain  upon  the  da}'  of  his  return  ! — 
I  see  thou  dost  revere  this  royal  house  ! 
I  see  it,  for  thy  bosom  vainly  strives 


51 


Against  the  unexpected,  dreadful  word. 

Art  thou  a  daughter  of  a  friend  ?    Wast  thou 

In  this  same  city  born  a  neighbor  then  ? 

Conceal  it  not  and  hold  it  not  amiss 

That  I'm  the  first  this  horror  to  announce. 

Iph.       Say  on,  how  was  the  heavy  deed  accomplished  ? 

Pylad.    When  on  the  day  of  his  return,  the  king 

Descended  from  the  bath,  refreshed  and  calm, 
And  reached  to  take  his  garment  from  his  spouse, 
The  wretched  woman  o'er  his  noble  head 
And  shoulders  threw  a  fabric  woven  with  skill 
With  manifold  and  complicated  plaits  ; 
And  as  he  vainly  strove  to  free  himself, 
As  from  a  net,  iEgisthus,  traitor,  struck  ;  — 
Down  sank  this  mighty  prince  thus  veiled  to  death. 

Iph.       And  what  was  the  conspirator's  reward? 

Pylad.    A  bed  and  rule,  which  he  already  had. 

Iph.       Did  thus  their  evil  lust  lead  on  to  crime? 

Pylad.    And  deep  desire  for  vengeance  long  concealed. 

Iph.       How  had  the  king  offended  her  so  sore? 

Pylad.    By  an  atrocious  deed,  which,  be  the  act 
Of  murder  ever  just,  was  her  excuse. 
To  Aulis  he  allured  her  and,  the  while 
A  deity  with  boisterous  winds  opposed 
The  passage  of  the  Greeks,  had  thither  brought 
Before  the  altar  of  Diana  chaste 
The  eldest  daughter,  Iphigenia  ; 
And  there  she  fell,  a  bloody  sacrifice 
To  save  the  Greeks.    'Twas  this,  they  say,  that 

stamped 

Upon  her  heart  a  hate  so  deep  that  she 
Submitted  to  ^Egisthus'  fond  caress 


32 


And  flung,  with  her  own  hands,  the  fatal  net 
Around  her  spouse. 

Iph.  {Veiling  herself .*) 

It  is  enough.    Thou  shalt  see  me  again. 

Pylad.  {Alone.) 

By  fortunes  of  the  royal  house  she  seems 

Profoundly  moved.    Whate'er  her  name  and  race, 

She  has,  herself,  most  surely  known  the  king 

And,  fortunate  for  us,  from  noble  honse 

Was  hither  brought  a  slave.    Be  still,  fond  heart, 

And  let  us  wisely  steer  our  course  with  joy 

And  courage  towards  the  glimmering  star  of  hope. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.    Iphigenia.  Orestes. 

Iph.       Unhappy  man,  thy  fetters  I  unloose 
But  as  a  sign  of  a  more  painful  fate. 
The  freedom,  which  the  sanctuary  grants, 
Forebodeth  death,  e'en  as  life's  last  clear  glance 
Of  the  frail  invalid.    Yet  I  can  not 
And  dare  not  say  unto  myself  that  ye 
Are  lost  !    How  could  I  with  a  murd'rous  hand 
Devote  you  unto  death?    And  none  soe'er, 
As  long  as  I  am  priestess  to  Diana, 
Dares  touch  your  head.    But  now  when  I  refuse 
The  office,  as  the  incensed  king  demands  it, 
He  will  select  one  of  my  maidens  here 
As  my  successor,  and  I  then  can  naught 
But  aid  you  with  my  ardent  wish  alone. 


33 


Oh,  worthy  count^man  !  The  least  of  all 
Of  those  who  served  at  the  ancestral  hearth 
Is  doubly  welcome  in  a  foreign  land  ; 
How  shall  I  with  due  joy  and  reverence 
Receive  you,  ye  who  bring  before  my  sight 
The  image  of  the  heroes  whom  I  learned 
From  elders  to  revere, — who  fondly  cheer 
My  inmost  heart  with  new  and  pleasing  hope  ! 

Orestes.  Conceal  est  thou  thy  name  and  origin 

With  wise  forethought  ?  or  ma}7  I  know,  who  stands 
Before  me  like  a  heaven-descended  one  ? 

Iph.       Hereafter  thou  shalt  know.    But  tell  me  now, 
Since  I  but  partly  learned  it  from  thy  brother, 
What  was  the  end  of  those,  who  came  from  Troy 
To  find,  upon  the  threshold  of  their  homes, 
Dumbstruck,  a  cruel  unexpected  fate. 
Sure  I  was  young  when  guided  to  this  strand  ; 
Yet  well  do  I  recall  the  timid  glance, 
Which  I  with  wonder  and  with  fearfulness 
Upon  those  heroes  cast.    They  went  forth  so, 
As  though  Olympus  opened  wide  her  gates, 
And  antique  forms  illustrious  came  forth 
To  threaten  Ilion's  fall,  and  high  o'er  all 
The  towering  form  of  Agamemnon  stood  ! 
Oh,  tell  me,  pra}7  :  he  fell,  in  his  own  house, 
Through  his  own  consort's  and  iEgisthus'  trick? 

Orestes.  Thou  say'st  ! 

Iph.  Alas  !  Mycene,  woe  is  thee  ! 

Thus  have  the  sons  of  Tantalus  sown  curse 
On  curse,  broad-cast,  with  full  and  reckless  hand, 
And  shaking,  like  the  weeds,  their  desert  heads 
And  strewing  seeds  by  thousands  o'er  the  waste, 


34 


Begotten  murderers  all  near  of  kin 
In  an  unbroken  line  from  son  to  son 
In  ever  changing  fury  !    But  reveal 
What  of  thy  brother's  speech  so  suddenly 
The  darkness  of  my  fright  concealed  from  me, 
How  has  the  last  of  this  illustrious  race, 
The  darling  child,  ordained  some  day  to  be 
His  sire's  avenger,  how  has  he,  Orestes, 
Escaped  the  day  of  blood?    Has  a  like  fate 
Entangled  him  in  the  Avernal  net  ? 
Is  he  still  safe  ?    Alive  ?    And  lives  Electra  ? 
Orestes.  They  live. 

Iph.       Thou  golden  sun,  lend  me  thy  brightest  rays, 

Eay  them  for  thanks  before  the  throne  of  Jove  ! 
For  I  am  poor  and  dumb. 

Orestes.  Art  thou  a  friend  unto  this  royal  house, 
Art  thou  with  closer  ties  unto  it  bound, 
As  thy  sweet  joy  seems  to  disclose  to  me  ; 
Then  tame  thy  heart  awhile  and  hold  it  fast  ! 
For  to  the  joyful  mind  a  swift  relapse 
Into  the  state  of  pain  is  hard  to  bear. 
Thou  knowest  only  Agamemnon's  death. 

Iph.       And  know  I  not  enough  with  this  ? 

Orestes.  Thou  hast  but  half  of  horror's  tale  perceived. 

Iph.       What  else  is  there  to  fear  ?    Orestes  lives, 
Electra  lives. 

Orestes.  And  fearest  thou  for  Clytsemnestra  naught  ? 
Iph.       Nor  hope,  nor  fear,  can  save  her  evermore. 
Orestes.  She  too  departed  from  the  land  of  hope. 
Iph.       Shed  she  her  blood  in  her  remorseful  rage  ? 
Orestes.  Not  so,  yet  her  own  blood  gave  her  to  death. 
Iph.       More  clearly  speak,  that  I  no  longer  doubt. 


35 


For  dark  uncertainty  in  thousand  forms 
Beats  round  my  tim'rous  head  its  sombre  wings. 
Orestes.  Have  then  the  gods  thus  chosen  me  t'  announce 
A  deed,  which  I  so  willingly  would  hide 
In  soundless  hollow  caverns  of  night's  realm  ? 
Against  my  will  thy  gentle  tongue  constrains  me  ; 
Perhaps  it  asks  and  will  receive  a  pang. 
Upon  the  day  in  which  the  father  fell, 
Electra,  quick  to  save,  concealed  her  brother  ; 
His  uncle  Strophius  received  him  gladly, 
Reared  him  beside  his  son,  named  Pylades, 
Who  round  the  adopted  one  the  tenderest  ties 
Of  friendship  bound.    And  as  they  grew,  there  grew 
Within  their  souls  the  burning  wish  to  avenge 
The  king's  death.    Unexpected,  in  disguise, 
They  reach  Mycene,  feigning  so  to  bear 
The  mournful  tidings  of  Orestes'  death, 
Together  with  his  ashes.    And  the  queen 
Receives  them  well ;  they  pass  into  the  house. 
Unto  Electra  then  Orestes  makes 
Himself  full  known  ;  in  him  she  fans  the  fire 
Of  vengeance,  which  the  mother's  sacred  presence 
Had  well  repressed.    She  leads  him  silently 
Unto  the  place  whereon  his  father  fell, 
Where  still  remained  an  old  slight  trace  of  blood, 
So  rashly  spilt,  and  stained  the  oft-washed  floor 
With  pale  portentous  streaks.    With  fiery  tongue 
Each  circumstance  of  the  accursed  deed 
She  there  portrayed,  and  her  own  wretched  life 
Harassed  and  menial,  the  arrogance 
Of  the  successful  traitor  and  the  perils 
Which  now  the  children  feared  from  cruelty 

36 


Of  one  who  had  become  step-mother  harsh  : 
Here  then  the  ancient  dagger  which  so  oft 
Had  made  such  fearful  havoc  in  the  house 
Of  Tantalus,  she  forced  upon  her  brother, 
And  Clytaemnestra  fell  by  her  son's  hand. 

Iph.       Immortal  gods,  ye  who  in  spotless  light 
On  clouds  forever  new,  so  happy  dwell, 
Have  ye  for  this  alone  so  many  years 
Thus  sundered  me  from  human  kind,  kept  me 
So  near  yourselves,  charged  me  with  filial  care 
To  feed  the  holy  fire's  glow,  raised  up 
My  soul  like  flame  unto  your  dwelling-place 
In  everlasting  pious  purity, 
But  later  and  more  deeply  to  transfix  me 
With  horrors  of  my  house  ? — But  let  me  hear 
Of  the  unhappy  one,  Orestes  !  Speak 
To  me  of  him  ! 

Orestes.  Oh,  would  that  we  could  speak  of  him  as  dead  ! 
How  like  the  foam  the  mother's  spirit  rose 
From  out  the  blood  of  her  slain  self  and  called 
Unto  the  ancient  daughters  of  the  night : 
1 '  L,et  not  the  matricide  escape  !  Pursue 
The  criminal  !    To  you  he's  given  for  doom  !" 
They  hear,  and  all  around,  their  hollow  eyes 
Glare  like  the  eagle's,  eager  for  the  prey. 
They  stir  themselves  within  their  gloomy  cells, 
From  nook  and  cranny  steal  abroad  with  stealth 
Their  constant  followers,  Despair  and  Grief. 
From  them  a  fume  of  Acheron  ascends ; 
Within  the  circle  of  its  vapor  rolls 
Confusing  round  the  guilty  wretch's  head 
The  never-ceasing  sight  of  what  is  done. 


37 


So  they,  with  power  to  ruin  clothed,  thus  tread 
The  beauteous  ground  of  earth  divinely  sown, 
From  which  an  ancient  curse  long  banished  them. 
Swift-footed  they  pursue  the  fugitive  : 
They  give  him  rest,  only  to  fright  anew. 

Iph.       Unhappy  man,  thou  art  in  a  like  case 

And  feel' st  the  pangs  of  the  poor  fugitive  ! 

Orestes.  What  say  est  thou  ?    What,  thinkest  a  like  case  ? 

Iph.       Like  him,  a  fratricide  oppresses  thee  ; 

This  much  already  hath  thy  younger  brother 
Confided  unto  me. 

Orestes.  I  can  not  bear  the  thought  that  thou,  great  soul, 
Shouldst  ever  be  deceived  by  falsehood's  wile. 
A  clever  stranger,  practised  in  deceit 
Ties  round  a  stranger's  feet  a  web  of  lies 
To  catch  him  in  a  snare  ;  'twixt  us  be  truth  ! 
I  am  Orestes,  and  this  guilty  head 
Sinks  down  unto  the  grave  and  seeketh  death  ; 
In  any  form  he's  welcome  when  he  comes  ! 
Whoe'er  thou  art,  I  wish  deliverance 
For  thee  and  for  my  friends  ;  not  for  myself. 
Thou  seemest  here  against  thy  will  to  stay  ; 
Devise  some  means  of  flight  and  leave  me  here. 
From  rocky  cliff  let  my  dead  body  fall, 
Down  to  the  watery  main  let  fume  my  blood 
And  bring  a  curse  to  this  barbaric  shore  ! 
Go  ye,  at  home  in  beauteous  land  of  Greece 
There  to  begin  a  new  and  blessed  life.     (  Withdraws. ) 

Iph.       So  then  at  last,  Fulfilment,  fairest  daughter 
Of  the  almighty  father,  thou  descend 'st 
To  me  !    How  vast  thine  image  stands  before  me  ! 
My  glance  can  scarce  attain  unto  the  hands, 


38 


Which,  flowing  o'er  with  fruit  and  crowns  of  blessing, 
The  treasures  of  Otympus  bringeth  down. 
As  we  by  his  abounding  gifts  may  know 
The  king — for  what  to  thousands  seemeth  wealth, 
To  him  is  but  a  trifle — so  may  we 
KnowT  you,  ye  gods,  by  gifts  withheld  for  long 
And  wisely  suited  to  our  several  needs. 
For  ye  alone  can  know  what  profits  us, 
And  see  the  future's  kingdom  stretched  afar, 
When  every  night  a  veil  of  star  and  mist 
Obscures  the  view  for  us.    Ye  calmly  hear 
Our  earnest  prayers,  when  we  like  children  beg 
For  quick  response  ;  but  never  do  your  hands 
Untimely  pluck  the  golden  fruits  of  heaven  ; 
And  woe  to  him  who,  snatching  them  with  greed 
And  insolence,  consumes  unto  his  death 
The  acrid  food.    Oh,  let  the  long  awaited, 
Still  scare  imagined  happiness,  not  pass 
From  me  like  empty  shadow  of  a  friend 
Departed,  and  in  pangs  by  far  more  piercing  ! 
Orestes.  {Returning.') 

Invokest  thou  the  gods  for  thine  own  self 

And  Pylades,  then  couple  not  my  name 

With  yours.    Thou  canst  not  save  the  criminal, 

To  whom  thou  join'st  thyself,  and  shar'st  his  curse 

And  fate. 

Iph.       My  fate  is  firmly  bound  to  thine. 

Orestes.  By  no  means  ! 

Let  me  descend  alone,  companionless, 
Unto  the  dead.    Couldst  thou  the  guilty  one 
Conceal  within  the  folds  of  thine  own  veil, 
Thou  couldst  not  hide  him  from  the  tireless  eye 


39 


Of  those  who  ever  watch  ;  thy  presence  e'en, 
Thou  heavenly  one,  would  only  press  aside, 
Not  frighten  them  away.    They  dare  not  tread, 
With  bold  aspiring  feet,  this  hallowed  ground  ; 
Yet  in  the  distance  here  and  there  I  hear 
Their  fiendish  laughter.    So  wolves  wait  round 
The  tree  whereon  a  traveler  saves  himself. 
Out  there  they  lie  in  wait ;  if  I  forsake 
This  fane,  then  they  will  rise,  and,  shaking  high 
The  serpent-heads  and  scattering  dust  around 
From  every  side,  drive  on  their  prey  before  them. 

Iph.       Canst  thou,  Orestes,  take  a  kindly  word  ? 

Orestes.  Spare  it  for  one  who  is  a  friend  of  gods. 

Iph.       They  grant  to  thee  the  light  of  a  new  hope. 

Orestes.  Through  smoke  and  fume  I  see  the  feeble  glimmer 
Of  death's  flood  light  me  on  the  way  to  hell. 

Iph.       Hast  thou  one  sister  only,  named  Electra  ? 

Orestes.  The  one  I  knew  ;  yet  well  the  elder  took 

Her  goodly  lot,  which  seemed  to  us  so  dreadful, 

Out  of  the  misery  of  our  house  betimes. 

Oh,  cease  thy  questionings,  lest  thou  too  join 

Th'  Erinnys'  company  ;  with  hate  malign 

They  blow  the  ashes  from  my  soul  away 

And  suffer  not  the  dying  ember's  fire 

Of  our  ruined  race  t'  expire  in  me. 

Shall  then  the  glow,  ignited  by  design, 

And  fed  by  sulphurous  fumes  from  hell  beneath, 

Forever  on  my  soul  tormenting  burn  ? 

Iph.       I  bring  sweet  incense  now  into  the  flame. 
Oh,  let  the  pure  and  holy  breath  of  love 
In  gentle  zephyrs  cool  thy  bosom's  glow. 
Orestes,  dear,  canst  thou  not  understand  ? 


40 


Hath  thus  the  company  of  terror's  gods 
Dried  up  thy  blood  within  thy  arteries  ? 
Creeps  thus,  as  from  the  hideous  Gorgon  head, 
A  petrifying  sorcery  through  thy  limbs  ? 
Oh,  if  the  voice  of  mother's  blood  bespilt 
Can  call  in  hollow  tones  to  hell's  confines, 
Shall  not  the  guileless  sister's  blessed  word 
Propitious  gods  down  from  Olympus  call  ? 

Orestes.  It  calls  !  it  calls  !    Wilt  thou  thus  ruin  me  ? 
Doth  an  avenging  goddess  hide  in  thee  ? 
Who  art  thou  then,  whose  voice  with  terror  moves 
My  inmost  soul  to  its  prof oundest  depths  ? 

Iph.       In  thy  heart's  depths  the  truth  proclaims  itself. 
Orestes,  I  am  she  !  See  Iphigenia  ! 
I  live  ! 

Orestes.  Thou  ! 

Iph.       My  brother  ! 

Orestes.  Leave  ine  !  Away  ! 

I  counsel  thee,  touch  not  these  locks  of  mine  ! 
A  fire  unquenchable  flames  forth  from  me 
As  from  the  bridal  robe  of  Glauce  flamed. 
Leave  me  !    Like  Hercules  will  I,  base  wretch, 
Absorbed  in  self,  go  down  to  death  and  shame. 

Iph.       Thou  shalt  not  perish  !    Oh,  that  I  could  draw 

One  peaceful  word  from  thee  !    Resolve  my  doubt, 

Let  now  the  happiness  so  long  implored 

Become  assured  to  me.    A  whirl  of  joy 

And  pain  goes  through  my  soul.    A  shuddering  chill 

Removes  me  from  the  stranger,  but  my  heart, 

With  yearnings  deep  and  strong,  moves  to  my  brother. 

Orestes.  Is  this  Lyseus'  temple  ?    And  raves  wild 
The  priestess  in  a  holy  frenzy  forth  ? 


41 


I  ph.       Oil,  hear  me  !    Look  upon  me,  how  my  heart, 
So  long  repressed,  now  opens  to  the  bliss 
The  world  still  holds  for  me,  the  dearest  head 
To  kiss,  to  clasp  thee  in  mine  arms,  which  erst 
The  empty  winds  embraced.    Oh,  let  me  !  Let  me  ! 
For  from  Parnassus  not  more  brightly  springs 
The  ceaseless  fountain's  flow  in  sparkling  spray 
From  rock  to  rock  down  to  the  golden  vale, 
Than  flows  the  joy  that  gushes  from  my  heart 
And  like  a  happy  sea  embraces  me. 
Orest'  !  Orest'  !  My  brother  ! 

Orestes.  Lovely  nymph, 

I  trust  thee  and  thy  fond  caresses  not. 
Diana  rules  her  ministers  austere 
And  will  avenge  her  temple's  profanation. 
Remove  thine  arm  from  off  my  breast  ! 
And  if  thine  ardor  seeks  to  save  a  youth 
And  thou  wilt  kindly  tender  him  the  boon, 
Then  turn  thy  thoughts  unto  my  worthy  friend. 
On  yonder  rocky  path  he  strays  about ; 
Seek  him,  show  him  the  way  aright,  and  spare  me. 

Iph.       Be  calm,  my  brother,  and  receive  the  found  one  ! 
Brand  not  a  sister's  pure  and  heavenly  joy 
With  infamy  of  rash  and  guilty  lust. 
Oh,  take  the  blindness  from  his  staring  eyes  ! 
Let  not  the  instant  of  our  highest  joy 
Be  turned  to  three-fold  anguish  !    She  is  here, 
The  long-lost  sister.    From  the  altar  me 
The  goddess  tore  away  and  hither  brought 
Me  safe  into  her  own  true  sanctuary. 
Thou  art  a  captive,  held  for  sacrifice, 
And  in  the  priestess  findest  thine  own  sister. 
42 


0?-estes.  Unhappy  one  !    Then  let  the  sun  behold 

The  closing  horror  of  our  ill-starred  house  ! 

Is  not  Electra  here  ?  that  she  too  may 

With  us  go  down  to  death,  and  not  prolong 

Her  life  for  a  more  direful  fate  and  grief. 

'Tis  well  !    I  follow  to  the  altar,  priestess  ; 

For  fratricide  is  custom  handed  down 

Of  old  in  Pelops'  race  ;  I  thank  you,  gods, 

That  ye  have  purposed  to  uproot  me  childless. 

And  let  me  counsel  thee,  be  not  too  much 

In  love  with  the  bright  sun  and  with  the  stars ; 

Come,  follow  me  into  the  gloomy  realm  ! 

As  dragons  from  the  sulphurous  pool  begotten 

And  warring  with  the  kindred  brood,  devour 

Each  other,  so  the  fury-bearing  race 

Destroys  itself  ;  childless  and  guiltless,  come, 

Descend  with  me  !    Dost  look  with  pitying  eyes 

On  me  ?    Forbear  !    With  such  a  pitying  glance 

Did  Clytaemnestra  seek  to  find  a  way 

To  her  son's  heart  ;  yet  his  uplifted  arm 

Smote  her  fair  breast.    The  mother  fell  ! — Arise, 

Thou  angry  ghost  !    Come  on,  ye  Furies,  come 

And  circling  round,  act  well  your  several  parts 

In  this  most  welcome  spectacle,  the  last, 

Most  horrible  of  all,  that  ye've  prepared  ! 

Not  hate  and  not  revenge  your  dagger  sharpen  ; 

The  lovely  sister  will  perform  the  deed 

Perforce.    Weep  not  !    Thou  hast  no  touch  of  blame. 

E'er  since  my  earliest  years  naught  have  I  loved 

As  I  could  love  thee,  sister.    Brandish  now 

Your  steel,  spare  not,  tear  through  this  naked  breast 

And  open  for  the  seething  streams  a  way. 
{He  sinks  exhausted.) 

43 


Iph.       I  can  not  bear  this  fortune  and  distress 

Alone.    Where  art  thou,  Pylades?    Dear  man, 
Where  shall  I  find  thine  aid  ? 

{She  zvithdraws,  seeking  Pylades.) 

Scene  II. 

Orestes.  {Awaking  from  his  stupor  and  rising.) 

Another  !    Reach  to  me  from  Lethe's  flood 
The  last  cool  quickening  draught  !    Soon  from  my 

breast 

The  spasm  of  life  will  be  expelled  ;  my  spirit, 
Delivered  to  oblivion's  source,  will  soon 
Flow  on  in  quietude  to  you,  ye  shades, 
In  everlasting  mist.    In  your  repose 
The  harried  son  of  earth  finds  glad  relief. — 
What  lispings  do  I  hear  among  the  branches, 
What  rustling  noise  from  yonder  twilight  dim  ? 
They  come  now  to  behold  their  latest  guest  ! 
What  troop  is  it  that  joys  so  gloriously 
Among  themselves  like  royal  company  ? 
They  go  in  peace,  both  old  and  young,  the  men 
With  women,  and  their  forms  advancing  seem 
Like  gods.    In  truth,  they  are  my  ancestors  ! 
Thyestes  goes  with  Atreus,  engaged 
In  confidential  talk  ;  the  children  glide 
In  play  about  them.    Is  there  then  no  more 
Of  ancient  enmity  among  you  here  ? 
Expired  revenge  as  dies  the  light  of  day  ? 
Then  I  too  shall  be  welcome,  and  I  may 
Commingle  in  your  festive  company. 


44 


Ye  fathers,  welcome  !    Greetings  from  Orestes, 

The  last  man  of  your  ancient  royal  race  ; 

What  ye  have  sown,  is  harvested  by  him  : 

With  curses  laden  I  am  come  to  you. 

Bach  burden  here  more  easily  is  borne  : 

Take  him,  oh,  take  him  to  your  fellowship  ! 

Thee  Atreus,  I  revere,  thee  too,  Thyestes ; 

Here  are  we  all  from  enmity  set  free. 

Show  me  my  father,  whom  in  life  I  saw 

But  once  ! — And  art  thou  he,  my  father,  thou  ? 

And  trustest  thou  to  lead  the  mother  round  ? 

Dare  Clytsemnestra  offer  thee  her  hand 

So  dares  Orestes  turn  his  steps  to  her 

And  say  to  her  :    Behold  thy  son,  Orestes  ! — 

Behold  your  son  !    Bid  him  be  welcome  here. 

On  earth  was  murder's  greeting  in  our  house 

A  never-failing  signal,  and  the  race 

Of  ancient  Tantalus  must  find  its  joy 

Beyond  the  realm  of  night.  Ye  cry  :  Thou'rt  welcome 

And  ye  receive  me.    Oh,  lead  me  to  him, 

Our  ancient  ancestor  !    Oh,  where  is  he  ? 

That  I  may  see  him  and  the  dear  old  head 

That  honored,  with  the  gods  in  council  sat. 

You  seem  to  hesitate,  to  turn  away  ? 

What  meaneth  this  ?    Is  he,  the  godlike  one, 

In  torments  ?    Woe  is  me  !    Th'  almighty  gods 

Have  forged  and  fastened  to  the  hero's  breast 

An  adamantine  chain  of  cruel  pains. 


45 


Scene  III.    Orestes.    Iphigenia.  Pylades 


Orestes.  Are  ye  too  now  descended  from  above? 

'  Tis  well,  my  sister  !    Yet  Electra  stays  : 
May  some  good  god  soon  send  the  last  one  down, 
On  gentle  rays  like  arrows  swift  to  us. 
Thee,  my  poor  friend,  must  I  commiserate  ! 
Come  with  me,  come,  away  to  Pluto's  throne, 
As  guests  but  newly  come  to  greet  the  host  ! 

Iph.       Ye  twain,  wTho  on  the  wide  expanse  of  heaven 
The  beauteous  light  by  day  and  night  upheave 
For  men  and  shine  not  for  departed  souls, 
Preserve  us  twain  !    Thy  radiant  brother,  thou, 
Diana,  lov'st  before  all  else  on  earth 
And  in  the  heavens,  and  turn'st  thy  virgin  face 
With  longing  calm  to  his  eternal  light. 
Oh.  let  my  only  brother,  found  so  late, 
Not  rave  and  wander  in  the  gloom  of  madness  ! 
And  if  thy  purpose  now  is  done,  for  which 
Thou  hast  concealed  me  here,  if  thou  through  him 
Wilt  grant  me  saving  help,  and  him  through  me, 
Then  free  him  from  the  chains  of  that  old  curse, 
That  precious  time  for  freedom  be  not  lost. 

Pylad.    Dost  thou  know  us  and  this  most  sacred  grove 

And  this  same  light,  which  shines  not  for  the  dead  ? 
Feel'st  thou  the  arm  of  friend  and  of  the  sister, 
Who  still  do  hold  thee  fast, — still  hold  the  living? 
Take  hold  of  us  ;  we  are  not  empty  shadows. 
Hear  thou  my  voice  !    Attend  !    And  nerve  thyself  ! 
Each  moment  now  is  dear,  and  our  return 
Depends  on  slender  threads,  which  now,  it  seems, 
Some  favoring  Parce  spins. 

46 


Orestes.  (To  Iphigenia.*) 

Now  let  me  first  with  spirit  disenthralled 

In  thy  embrace  unsullied  joy  obtain  ! 

Ye  gods,  who  move  with  flaming  might  to  cleave 

Thick  clouds  and,  earnest  to  bestow  your  gifts, 

With  voice  of  thunder  and  with  roar  of  winds 

Pour  o'er  the  parched  earth  in  raging  streams 

The  long  awaited  rain  ;  yet  soon  dissolve 

Th'  expectant  fears  of  men  in  happiness 

And  turn  their  terror-stricken  gaze  to  joy 

And  loudest  praise,  when  in  the  pendent  drops 

From  freshened  leaves  the  re-appearing  sun 

Reflects  his  image  in  a  thousand  forms 

And  Iris  banded  bright  with  airy  hand 

Rifts  the  gray  gauze  of  the  departing  cloud  : 

Oh,  let  me  then  in  my  dear  sister's  arms, 

On  my  companion's  breast,  enjoy  and  keep 

With  thankfulness,  what  ye  have  granted  me  ! 

The  curse  is  loosed,  I  feel  it  in  my  heart. 

I  hear  them  going,  the  Eumenides, 

To  Tartarus  ;  they  slam  the  brazen  gates 

Behind  them  with  a  thundering  noise  from  far. 

The  earth  exhales  revivifying  odors 

And  calls  me  back  again  on  her  wide  plains 

To  range  for  life's  delights  and  deeds  of  might. 

Pylad.    Then  squander  not  the  time  allotted  us  ! 

The  wind,  which  swells  our  sails,  let  it  first  bear 
Our  perfect  joy  to  high  Olympus.    Come  ! 
Our  counsel  and  decision  must  be  swift. 


47 


ACT  IV. 


Scene  I.  Iphigenia. 

When  the  heavenly  powers 

Perplexities  destine 

For  a  son  born  of  earth 

And  prepare  they  for  him 

Soul-quaking  transition 

From  life's  pleasures  to  pains 

And  from  pains  unto  pleasures  ; 

Then  they  train  him  up  so 

In  the  city's  gay  throngs 

Or  on  far  distant  shores 

That  in  hour  of  trial 

Needful  help  he  may  find 

In  a  true  tranquil  friend. 

Oh,  bless,  ye  gods,  our  faithful  Pylades 

And  whatsoe'er  he  undertakes  to  do  ! 

He  is  the  arm  of  youth  in  battle's  strife, 

The  kindling  eye  of  age  in  council  halls  : 

For  his  great  soul  is  calm  ;  it  wTell  preserves 

The  holy  inexhausted  boon  of  peace, 

And  from  its  depths  draws  for  the  fugitive 

Advice  and  aid.    Me  from  my  brother  he 

Hath  torn  awa5^,  on  whom  I  gazed  again 

And  yet  again  amazed,  and  could  not  make 

The  joy  my  own,  and  would  not  let  him  go, 

Unmindful  of  the  danger  threatening  near. 

They  go  now,  their  design  to  execute, 

Down  to  the  sea,  where,  in  the  bay  concealed, 

The  ship  with  their  companions  waits  the  sign  ; 

With  words  sagacious  they  have  filled  my  mouth 

48 


And  taught  me  what  to  say  unto  the  king 

If  he  should  send  and  urgently  demand 

Of  me  the  sacrifice.    Ah  !  well  I  see 

That  like  a  child  I  must  be  lead  perforce. 

I  have  not  learned  deception's  artifice 

Nor  ever  played  a  trick  on  any  one. 

Oh,  woe  to  falsehood  !    It  frees  not  the  breast 

Like  every  other  word  pronounced  in  truth  ; 

Begets  in  us  distrust  and  bringeth  anguish 

On  him  who  secretly  contriveth  it ; 

And  it  returns,  a  liberated  dart, 

Turned  in  its  flight  by  some  divinity, 

And  strikes  the  archer.    Care  on  care  distracts 

My  breast.    Perhaps  upon  th'  unhallowed  shore 

Again  the  fury's  rage  will  seize  the  brother 

And  bind  him  to  the  earth  in  agony  ? 

Perhaps  they  will  be  seen  ?    Methinks  I  hear 

Armed  men  approaching  ! — Here  ! — The  messenger 

Himself  with  rapid  strides  comes  from  the  king. 

My  heart  beats  fast,  my  soul  grows  dark  and  sad, 

As  I  behold  the  visage  of  the  man 

Whom  I  must  now  oppose  with  falsehood's  wiles. 


Scene  II.    Iphigenia.  Arkas. 

Arkas.  Haste,  priestess,  now  prepare  the  sacrifice  ! 

The  king  attends,  the  people  stand  and  wait. 

Iph.       I  would  fulfil  my  office  and  thy  will 

Had  not  an  unexpected  hindrance  come 
'Twixt  me  and  the  performance  of  my  duty. 

Arkas.  What  is  it  that  impedes  the  king's  command  ? 

Iph.       A  circumstance,  which  we  can  not  control. 


49 


Arkas.  Declare  it,  that  I  may  apprise  him  soon  ; 

For  he  determined  on  the  death  of  both. 

Iph.       The  gods  have  not  yet  so  determined  it. 

The  elder  of  these  men  bears  guilty  stain 

Of  his  near  kindred's  blood,  which  he  hath  shed. 

The  Furies  follow  him  upon  his  tracks, 

Yea,  in  the  inner  temple  e'en  he  fell 

A  prey  to  madness,  and  his  presence  here 

Profaned  the  holy  place.    Now  with  my  maidens 

I  hasten  to  the  water's  marge  to  bathe 

The  sacred  image  in  the  cleansing  waves, 

So  to  perform  a  consecrating  act 

In  rites  mysterious.    Let  none  disturb 

Our  peaceful  progress  to  the  sea. 

Arkas.  I  will  with  speed  announce  this  hind' ranee  strange 
Unto  the  king.    Before  thou  hast  consent 
From  him,  begin  not  thou  this  holy  work. 

Iph.      This  is  the  priestess'  right  and  trust  alone. 

Arkas.  A  case  so  strange  the  king  should  surely  know. 

Iph.       His  counsel  or  command  can  alter  naught. 

Arkas.  The  ruler  oft  is  asked  for  appearance  sake. 

Iph.       Urge  not  upon  me  what  I  should  refuse. 

Arkas.  Refuse  not  that  which  good  and  needful  is. 

Iph.       I  will  comply,  if  thou  wilt  not  delay. 

Arkas.  Soon  with  the  tidings  will  I  be  in  camp 

And  soon  be  here  again  with  his  command. 
Oh,  could  I  bear  to  him  one  message  more, 
To  clear  up  all  that  now  perplexes  us  ; 
For  thou  hast  not  esteemed  thy  friend's  advice. 

Iph.       What  I  had  power  to  do,  I've  gladly  done. 

Arkas.  E'en  yet  there's  time  for  thee  to  change  thy  mind. 

Iph.       No  longer  now  is  that  within  our  power. 


50 


Arkas.  Thou  bold'st  impossible  what  costs  thee  pain. 

Iph.       To  thee  'tis  easy,  for  the  wish  deludes  thee. 

Arkas.  Wilt  thou  then  hazard  all  so  passively? 

Iph.       Into  the  hands  of  gods  I've  placed  my  trust. 

Arkas.  They  use  mankind  to  save  by  human  means. 

Iph.       Upon  their  lightest  beck  it  all  depends. 

Arkas.  I  tell  thee  it  doth  lie  in  thine  own  hand. 
The  king's  exasperated  mind  alone 
Prescribes  for  these  two  strangers  bitter  death. 
Long  since  the  people's  thought  hath  weaned  itself 
From  cruel  sacrifice  and  bloody  service. 
Yea,  many  a  one  whom  adverse  fate  hath  borne 
To  foreign  strands,  hath  for  himself  perceived, 
How  like  a  god  the  friendly  face  of  man 
Hath  met  the  hapless  wanderer,  whose  bark 
Storm-driven,  drifted  on  the  stranger's  shores. 
Oh,  turn  not  from  us  what  thou  canst  avail  ! 
Thou  endest  lightly  what  thou  hast  begun  : 
For  nowhere  mildness,  which  descends  from  heaven 
In  human  form,  more  quickly  for  itself 
Uprears  a  kingdom,  than  where  dark  and  wild 
A  new-born  folk,  replete  with  courage,  life 
And  might,  left  to  itself  and  fear's  forebodings, 
The  heavy  burden  bears  of  human  life. 

Iph.       Shake  not  my  soul  with  pleadings  vain,  for  thou 
Canst  never  make  me  yield  to  thy  demands. 

Arkas.  As  long  as  there  is  time,  nor  pains  we  spare 
Nor  repetition  of  a  kindly  word. 

Iph.       Thyself  thy  troublest,  and  excitest  pains 

In  me  ;  in  vain  are  both  ;  therefore  now  leave  me. 

Arkas.  The  pains  it  is  which  I  now  call  to  aid  : 

For  they  are  friends,  and  monitors  of  good. 


51 


Iph.       They  sieze  and  hold  my  soul  in  piercing  throes 
Yet  will  they  never  conquer  my  dislike. 

Arkas,  Can  then  a  soul  so  beautiful  thus  feel 

Dislike  for  kindness  proffered  by  a  king  ? 

Iph.       Yes,  when  the  king,  ignoring  what  is  fit, 
Would  sue  for  me  instead  of  gratitude. 

Arkas.  Who  feels  no  inclination  never  fails 

To  find  an  argument  to  excuse  himself. 
I  will  inform  the  prince  what's  happened  here. 
Oh,  would  thou  couldst  to  thy  remembrance  call, 
How  nobly  he  hath  borne  himself  to  thee 
From  thy  first  coming  to  this  present  day  ! 


Scene  III.    Iphigenia  (alone). 

Iph.       Now  all  at  once  and  most  unseason'bly 
I  feel  my  heart  within  my  bosom  turned. 
I  tremble  ! — as  with  currents  swift  the  flood 
In  swelling  billows  overflows  the  rocks 
Which  lie  upon  the  sands  down  by  the  sea, 
So  flowed  a  stream  of  joy  o'er  all  my  sense. 
I  held  within  my  arms  ecstatic  bliss 
Unspeakable.    Again  a  cloud  appeared 
To  softly  steal  around  me,  raise  me  up 
Above  the  earth  and  lull  me  in  such  slumber 
As  erst  the  goddess  laid  around  my  temples 
When  she  stretched  forth  her  saving  arm.    My  heart 
With  impulse  strange  and  strong  yearned  for  my 

brother ; 

I  listened  only  to  his  friend's  advice  ; 
Only  to  save  them,  pressed  my  spirit  on. 
And  as  the  sailor  gladly  turns  his  back 


52 


Upon  the  cliffs  of  some  deserted  isle, 

So  Tauris  lay  behind  me.    Now  the  voice 

Of  this  trustworthy  man  has  called  me  back, 

Reminded  me  that  here  too  I  forsake 

Mankind.    Twice  hateful  now  is  this  deceit. 

Be  still,  my  soul,  be  still  !    Begin,  st  thou  now 

To  waver  and  to  doubt  ?    Must  thou  forsake 

The  firm  abode  of  thy  dear  solitude  ? 

Thee,  once  again  embarked,  the  rocking  waves 

Will  seize  and  hold, — dejected  and  alarmed 

Thou  understandest  not  the  world  and  thee. 


Scene  IV.    Iphigenia.  Pylades. 

Pylad.    Where  is  she  ?    That  I  quickly  may  to  her 
The  joyful  news  of  our  deliverance  bear  ! 

Iph.       Thou  seest  me  anxious  and  awaiting  here 

The  sure  relief  which  thou  hast  promised  me. 

Pylad.    Thy  brother  is  restored  !    In  glad  discourse 
We  trod  the  rocky  bottom  and  the  sand 
Of  the  unhallowed  shore  ;  behind  us  lay 
The  grove, — we  marked  it  not.    And  gloriously 
And  with  an  ever  growing  glory  blazed 
The  beauteous  flame  of  youth  around  his  head 
All-curled  ;  the  glow  of  courage  and  of  hope 
Filled  his  clear  eye  ;  his  liberated  heart 
Quite  yielded  to  the  joy,  quite  to  the  wish, 
Thee,  his  deliverer,  and  me  to  save. 

Iph.       May  you  be  blest,  and  never  from  thy  lips, 

Which  have  so  kindly  spoken,  may  the  sound 
Of  sorrow  or  complaint  assail  our  ears  ! 

Pylad.    I  bring  still  more  than  this  ;  for  well  attended, 


E'en  like  a  prince,  doth  Fortune  seem  t'  approach. 

For  our  companions  too  have  all  been  found. 

Within  a  bay  among  the  rocks  they  hid 

The  ship  and  waiting  sat  disconsolate. 

They  saw  thy  brother  and  at  once  arose 

With  shouts  of  joy,  and  pressing  round  prayed  him 

To  hasten  on  the  hour  of  the  departure. 

Each  hand  was  eager  then  to  grasp  the  oar, 

E'en  then  a  wind  in  whispers  raised  on  shore 

A  favoring  breeze,  by  all  alike  remarked. 

Then  let  us  hasten, — to  the  temple  lead  me, 

And  led  me  tread  the  inmost  sanctuary, 

The  goal  of  our  desires  in  reverence  seize  ! 

I  can  alone  suffice  to  bear  away 

The  sacred  image  on  my  shoulders  strong ; 

Oh  how  I  long  to  reach  the  wished-for  burden  ! 

(  With  these  words  he  goes  towards  the  temple 
without  observing  that  Iphigenia  does  not 
follow  ;  at  last  he  turns  about. ) 

You  stand  and  loiter — speak  to  me — thou'rt  silent  ! 

You  seem  confused  !    Doth  some  new  ill  arise 

To  check  our  fortune  ?    Speak  !    Hast  thou  informed 

The  king,  as  we  in  concert  wisely  planned  ? 

I  have,  dear  man  ;  yet  thou  wilt  chide  I  know. 

Thine  aspect  was  to  me  a  mute  reproof  ! 

The  royal  messenger  approached,  and  I 

Each  word  repeated  as  thou  gavest  me. 

He  seemed  astonished,  urgently  desired, 

To  first  announce  the  festival  so  strange 

Unto  the  king,  that  he  might  learn  his  pleasure  ; 

And  now  I  wait  for  his  return. 


54 


Pylad.    Woe  and  alas  !    Now  danger  hangs  anew 

Above  our  heads  !    Why  didst  thou  not  conceal 
Thyself  with  cunning  'neath  thy  priesthood's  right? 

Iph.       I  ne'er  have  used  it  for  concealment's  veil. 

Pylad.    So  thou,  pure  soul,  will  bring  thyself  and  us 
To  grief.    Why  did  I  not  anticipate 
This  same  contingency  and  teach  thee  how 
To  parry  such  demands  ! 

Iph.  Chide  me  alone, 

The  fault  is  mine,  I  feel  that  it  is  so  ; 
Yet  otherwise  I  could  not  meet  the  man 
Who  sought  from  me  with  reason  and  with  zeal 
WThat  in  my  heart  I  knew  was  just  and  right. 

Pylad.    The  cloud  of  danger  grows  more  dense  ;  yet  so 
Let  us  not  tremble  or  with  heedless  haste 
Betray  ourselves.    Await  thou  quietly 
The  messenger's  return  and  then  stand  fast, 
Let  come  what  may  :  for  such  a  festival 
Of  consecration  to  direct,  pertains 
Unto  the  priestess,  not  unto  the  king. 
And  should  he  ask  to  see  the  foreigner, 
He  who  the  heavy  load  of  madness  bears, 
Decline  it  so,  as  though  thou  hadst  us  both 
Within  the  temple  guarded  well.    So  thou 
Wilt  give  us  time  in  greatest  haste  to  flee, 
While  we  purloin  the  sacred  treasure  hence, 
Unworthily  held  by  this  rude  barb'rous  folk. 
Apollo  sends  us  most  propitious  signs  ; 
Before  we  piously  fulfil  the  terms, 
Divinely  he  his  promises  fulfils. 
Orestes  now  is  free,  is  whole  ! — With  him 
Thus  freed,  oh,  bear  us,  favoring  winds,  across 

55 


To  rocky  isle,  the  god's  own  dwelling-place  ; 
Then  to  Mycene,  to  renew  its  life, 
That  from  the  ashes  of  its  smouldered  hearth 
The  household  gods  may  joyously  arise, 
And  cheerful  fire  light  their  dwellings  'round. 
Thy  hand  shall  first  for  them  sweet  incense  strew 
From  golden  censers.    Over  that  threshold 
Thou  wilt  again  bring  health  and  life,  appease 
The  curse  and  gloriously  adorn  thine  own 
With  life's  fresh  blooms  anew. 

I  ph.       If  I,  dear  friend,  perceive  thy  meaning  right, 
Then,  as  the  flower  turns  to  greet  the  sun, 
So  turns  the  soul,  pierced  by  thy  radiant  words, 
To  the  sweet  comfort  which  thou  dost  assure. 
How  precious  is  the  confident  discourse 
Of  present  friends  ;  to  him  who  dwells  alone 
Its  power  divine  is  lost  and  silent  falls. 
For,  locked  within  the  breast,  in  him  doth  thought 
And  resolution  ripen  slow  ;  the  presence 
Of  loving  friend  unfolds  them  readily. 

Pylad.    Farewell  !    I  now  will  hasten  to  console 
Our  friends,  who  eagerly  in  waiting  stay. 
Then  quickly  I'll  return  and  lie  in  wait 
Concealed  among  the  rocks  and  thicket  here, 
Upon  a  sign  from  you — What  thinkest  thou  ? 
For  all  at  once  a  cloud  of  sadness  spreads 
In  silence  o'er  thy  fair  and  open  brow. 

I  ph.       Forgive  me  !    Like  thin  clouds  before  the  sun, 
So  trifling  cares  and  fears  sweep  o'er  my  soul. 

Pylad.  Fear  not  ! 

Delusively  hath  fear  with  danger  joined 

A  compact  close  ;  companions  are  they  both. 

56 


Iph.       It  is  a  noble  care  and  charge  which  warn  me 
Not  to  deceive  in  malice  or  to  rob 
The  king,  who  has  become  my  second  father. 

Pylad.    Thou  fleest  from  him  who  would  thy  brother  slay. 

Iph.       Yet  he  it  is  who  hath  befriended  me. 

Pylad.    What  needful  is,  is  not  ingratitude. 

Iph.       It  still  remains  ingratitude,  but  need 
Excuseth  it. 

Pylad.    'Fore  gods  and  men  'twill  free  thee  from  all  blame. 

Iph.       But  my  own  heart  within  is  not  at  peace. 

Pylad.    'Tis  hidden  pride,  to  be  too  nice  in  right. 

Iph.       I  question  not  the  right,  I  only  feel. 

Pylad.    Feel'st  thou  aright,  then  thou  must  honored  be. 

Iph.       The  heart  is  only  happy  when  'tis  pure. 

Pylad.    So  hast  thou  kept  thyself  within  the  temple  ; 
Our  life  doth  teach  us  to  be  less  severe 
With  others  and  ourselves  ;  thou  too  wilt  learn  it. 
So  wondrously  is  formed  the  race  of  man, 
So  variously  entangled  and  involved, 
That  no  one  in  himself,  nor  with  his  kind 
Can  keep  himself  unsullied,  unperplexed. 
Nor  are  we  called  upon  to  judge  ourselves. 
To  walk  and  to  take  heed  unto  his  way, 
Is  each  man's  duty  and  his  first  concern  ; 
For  seldom  he  esteems  aright  what's  done, 
And  what  he  does,  he  knows  not  how  t'  esteem. 

Iph.       Almost  thou  dost  persuade  me  to  thy  way. 

Pylad.    Needs  there  persuasion  where  the  choice' s  denied  ? 
There  is  one  only  way  to  save  thy  brother, 
Thyself  and  friend  ;  can  we  decline  to  go  ? 

Iph.       Oh,  grant  me  some  delay  !  for  thou  thyself 

Would' st  not  permit  such  wrong  to  fall  on  one 

57 


To  whom  for  favors  thou  wert  held  in  bond. 

Pylad.    If  we  should  fall,  there  would  remain  for  thee 
Reproach  more  bitter,  gendering  despair. 
'Tis  clear  that  thou  art  not  inured  to  loss, 
Since  thou,  in  order  to  escape  great  ill, 
Art  not  e'en  willing  t'  offer  one  false  word. 

Iph.       Oh,  would  I  bore  a  manlike  heart  in  me, 
Which,  when  it  entertains  a  purpose  bold, 
Doth  close  itself  to  every  other  voice  ! 

Pylad.    In  vain  thou  dost  refuse  ;  the  iron  hand 
Of  hard  necessity  commands  ;  her  nod 
Severe  is  law  supreme  ;  to  it  the  gods 
Themselves  must  yield  obedience.    Silent  reigns 
Th'  uncounseled  sister  of  eternal  fate. 
What  she  imposes,  bear  ;  do,  what  she  bids. 
The  rest  thou  knowrest.    Soon  will  I  return, 
Then  to  receive  from  out  thy  hallowed  hand 
The  beauteous  seal  of  our  deliverance. 

Scene  V.    Iphigenia  (alo?ie). 

Iph.       I  must  obey  him  ;  for  I  see  mine  own 

In  urgent  danger.    Yet,  ah  me  !  my  fate 
Oppresses  me  with  e'er  increasing  fears. 
Oh,  shall  I  not  preserve  the  peaceful  hope, 
Which  in  my  solitude  I  nourished  fair  ? 
Shall  then  this  curse  forever  hover  o'er  us? 
Shall  the  Tantalian  race  with  blessings  new 
Ne'er  rise  again?    All  else  doth  fade  and  wane  ! 
The  highest  bliss,  the  fairest  strength  of  life, 
Grows  faint  at  last  !    Wherefore  then  not  the  curse  ? 
So  then  I  hoped  in  vain,  safe-guarded  here, 

58 


Secluded  from  my  people's  destiny, 

Some  day  with  a  clean  hand  and  a  clean  heart 

To  purify  the  much  polluted  dwelling. 

Scarce  is  my  brother  in  my  arms  restored, 

In  manner  strange  and  quick,  from  grievous  ill, 

Scarce  comes  the  long- entreated  ship  near  shore, 

To  bear  me  to  my  native  haven  hence, 

That  deaf  necessity  with  heavy  hand 

Doth  burden  me  with  two-fold  vice  ;  to  take 

By  force  the  sacred  image,  honored  much, 

To  me  entrusted,  and  to  circumvent 

The  man  to  whom  I  owe  my  life  and  fate. 

Oh,  that  aversion  may  not  sprout  at  last 

Within  my  breast  !    That  not  Titanic  hate 

Of  ancient  gods,  deep-set  and  strong  'gainst  you, 

Olympians,  may  seize  my  tender  breast 

With  vultures'  claws  !    Save  me  !    Thine  image  save 

Within  my  soul ! 

Again  within  my  ears  the  old  song  sounds, — 

I  had  forgotten  it, — forgot  it  gladly — 

The  Parcse's  song,  which  they  in  horror  sang, 

When  Tantalus  from  golden  seat  fell  down  ; 

They  suffered  with  their  aged  friend  ;  their  breasts 

Were  torn  with  rage  and  frightful  was  their  song. 

In  childhood  days  the  nurse  sang  it  to  me 

And  to  the  rest,  I  marked  it  well. 

Let  the  fear  of  the  gods 
Be  on  children  of  men  ! 
They  hold  in  their  hands 
Eternal  dominion 


59 


And  can  use  it  to  smite 
Whenever  the}'  please. 

Let  him  fear  them  doubly, 
Whom  once  they  have  honored  ! 
On  cliffs  and  on  cloud-banks, 
The  seats  are  prepared 
'Round  tables  of  gold. 

When  discord  arises 

The  guests  are  hurled  headlong, 

Disgraced  and  defamed, 

To  the  depths  of  night's  realm, 

And  wait  in  despair  there, 

In  darkness  confined, 

For  justice  and  right. 

But  the  gods  remain  feasting 

In  festivals  ever 

At  tables  of  gold. 

They  stride  across  mountains 

To  mountains  again  ; 

From  abysses  beneath  them 

The  breath  of  the  Titans, 

All  strangling  and  struggling, 

Ascendeth  in  fumes, 

Like  scent  of  burnt-off' rings, 

A  light  airy  cloud. 

The  rulers  turn  from  them 
Their  favoring  eyes, — 
From  the  whole  hated  race, 
And  shun  in  the  children 

60 


Once  loved  and  once  honored 
The  features  betraying 
Their  ancestor's  line. 

Thus  sang  they,  the  Parcse  ; 
The  banished  one  hearkens 
In  the  caverns  of  night 
To  their  song  ;  as  he  hears 
He  thinks  of  the  fathers 
Then  thinks  of  the  children 
And  shaketh  his  head. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.    Thoas.    Ark  as. 

Arkas.  Perplexed  I  must  admit  that  I  know  not, 
To  what  point  to  direct  suspicion's  aim. 
Is  it  the  captives,  who  now  meditate 
Clandestine  flight  ?    Is  it  the  priestess'  self 
Who  aids  them  ?    For  the  rumor  spreads  and  grows, 
That  still  somewhere  within  the  bay  the  ship, 
Which  these  two  hither  brought,  lies  well  concealed. 
The  man's  insanity,  this  consecration, 
The  sacred  pretext  for  delay,  arouse 
Suspicion  only  and  demand  precaution. 

Thoas.  First  let  the  priestess  hither  quickly  come  ! 

Then  search  the  shore  with  quick  and  eager  haste, 
E'en  from  the  headland  to  the  sanctuary. 

61 


Avoid  its  sacred  depths,  in  ambush  lie 
All-watchful  and  upon  them  fall  with  might ; 
Where'er  you  find  them,  seize  them,  as  you  may. 


Scene  II.    Thoas  {alone). 

Thoas.   Now  rage  within  my  breast  alternate  sways  ; 
Against  her  first,  whom  I  so  holy  thought, 
Then  'gainst  n^self,  who  formed  and  fashioned  her 
Through  fond  indulgence  for  this  treachery. 
Man  soon  becomes  inured  to  slavery 
And  lightly  learns  t'  obey,  when  fully  robbed 
Of  freedom.    Yes,  had  she  in  the  rude  hands 
Of  my  forefathers  fallen  and  been  spared 
Their  holy  rage,  glad  would  she  then  have  been 
To  have  escaped  alive,  and  to  have  learned 
To  know  her  state  with  thankfulness  and  shed 
The  stranger's  blood  before  the  sacred  altar, — 
To  make  a  duty  of  necessity. 
Now  in  her  breast  my  kindness  doth  inflame 
Desire  audacious.    I  in  vain  have  hoped 
To  bind  her  to  myself  ;  she  seeketh  now  . 
Her  fortune  for  herself  alone.    My  heart 
She  won  through  flattery  ;  now  I  oppose  : 
Thus  seeks  she  for  herself  a  way  through  cunning 
And  through  deceit,  and  all  my  kindness  seems 
To  her  an  old  worn-out  estate. 


Scene  III.    Iphigenia.  Thoas. 

Iph.       Dost  summon  me  ?    What  brings  you  here  to  us  ? 
Thoas.  Thou  dost  delay  the  sacrifice  ;  why  so  ? 
Iph.       I  have  explained  it  all  to  Arkas  clearly. 

62 


Thoas.   I  wish  to  learn  it  further  from  yourself. 

Iph.       The  goddess  gives  you  respite  for  reflection. 

Thoas.   To  thee  this  respite  seems  quite  opportune. 

Iph.       If  now  thy  heart  is  hardened  to  resolve 

On  cruelty,  thou  shouldst  not  here  appear  ! 
A  king,  who's  bent  on  inhumanity 
Can  servants  find  in  plenty,  who  for  grace 
And  hire  will  eagerly  partake  the  half 
Of  the  accursed  deed  ;  yet  royalty 
Remains  unstained.    In  secrecy  profound 
He  meditates  on  death  ;  his  messengers 
Bring  down  upon  the  wretched  victim's  head 
A  flaming  ruin,  yet  he  soars  in  calm, 
In  his  serenest  height  above  the  storm, 
An  unapproach-ed  god. 

Thoas.   The  holy  lips  sound  forth  a  frantic  song. 

Iph.       Not  priestess  now,  but  Agamemnon's  daughter. 
Reveredst  thou  the  word  of  one  unknown, 
And  wilt  thou  rashly  bid  the  princess  ?    No  ! 
From  youth  till  now  have  I  learned  to  obey, 
My  parents  first  and  then  my  deity, 
And  ever  have  I  felt  my  soul  most  free 
In  sweet  obedience  ;  but  to  yield  myself 
To  the  despotic  will  and  harsh  command 
Of  any  man,  I  learned  not  there,  nor  here. 

Thoas.  An  ancient  law,  not  I,  commandeth  thee. 

Iph.       With  eagerness  we  seize  upon  a  law 

That  to  our  passions  gives  encouragement. 
Another  speaks  to  me,  an  older  law, 
Which  I  oppose  to  thee,  the  great  command 
Which  holds  each  stranger  sacred. 

Thoas.  The  captives  seem  quite  near  and  dear  to  thee  : 

63 


Through  sympathetic  feeling  and  emotion 
Thou  hast  forgotten  wisdom's  first  command, 
That  we  should  not  provoke  the  ruling  powers. 

Iph.       Speak  I  or  am  I  silent,  thou  canst  know 
What  is  and  ever  dwells  within  my  heart. 
Doth  not  the  memory  of  a  similar  fate 
Unlock  the  fastenings  of  the  heart  to  pity's  cry? 
How  much  more  mine  !    In  them  I  see  myself. 
Before  the  altar  I  myself  have  trembled, 
And  early  death  in  solemn  state  stood  o'er 
Me  kneeling  ;  then  the  knife  was  raised  aloft 
To  pierce  the  bosom  throbbing  with  young  blood  ; 
A  whirl  of  horror  terrified  my  soul, 
My  sight  grew  dim,  and — I  was  saved  at  last. 
Are  we  not  bound  to  render  to  th'  unhappy 
What  gods  so  graciously  have  granted  us  ? 
Thou  knowest  it  is  so,  thou  knowest  me, 
And  yet  thou  wouldst  constrain  me  ! 

Thoas.  Submit  unto  thine  office,  not  thy  king. 

Iph.       Forbear  !    Gloze  not  with  words  that  violence, 
Which  o'er  a  woman's  weakness  doth  exult. 
I  am  free-born,  as  free  as  any  man. 
If  Agamemnon's  son  now  stood  before  thee, 
And  thou  shouldst  then  demand  what  was  not  fit, 
He  too  would  have  a  sword  and  have  an  arm, 
To  vindicate  his  nearest,  dearest  right. 
Nothing  but  words  have  I,  and  it  befits 
A  noble  man,  to  honor  woman's  word. 

Thoas.  I  honor  it  more  than  a  brother's  sword. 

Iph.       The  chance  of  arms  doth  ever  change  about ; 
No  prudent  fighter  doth  his  foe  belittle  : 
And  nature  hath  not  left  the  weak  defenceless 


64 


Against  the  pride  and  hauteur  of  the  strong  ; 
She  grants  him  joy  in  cunning  and  deceit ; 
Soon  he  escapes,  delays  and  circumvents. 
The  mighty  ones  of  earth  deserve  no  less. 

Thoas.  But  wise  precaution  doth  forestall  deceit. 

Iph.       And  an  unblemished  soul  doth  want  it  not. 

Thoas.  Take  care  that  thou  dost  not  condemn  thyself. 

Iph.       Oh,  couldst  thou  see  my  spirit,  how  it  strives 
With  might  to  turn  aside,  in'ts  first  assault, 
Malignant  fate,  which  bears  upon  it  hard  ! 
Stand  I  then  here  all  weaponless  against  thee  ? 
The  fascinating  plea,  the  charming  branch 
Which  in  a  woman's  hand  more  potent  is 
Than  sword  and  shield,  thou  dost  reject.    What  now 
Remains  to  me  as  my  soul's  last  defence  ? 
Call  I  the  goddess  to  perform  a  wonder? 
Is  there  no  strength  within  my  soul's  depths  more  ? 

Thoas.  It  seems  the  fate  of  these  two  strangers  gives 

Thee  measureless  concern.    Who  are  they,  pray, 
For  whom  thy  soul  so  mightily  is  moved  ? 

Iph.       They  are — they  seem — I  take  it,  they  are  Greeks. 

Thoas.   Thy  countrymen,  are  they  ?    And  they,  no  doubt> 
Revive  within  thy  breast  the  cherished  image 
Of  thy  return  ? 

Iph.  {After  a  pause.) 

Is  then  the  right  to  wondrous  deeds  bestowed 

On  man  alone  ?    Hath  he  alone  the  power 

To  attain  and  clasp  to  his  heroic  breast 

Th'  impossible  ?    What  then  do  we  call  great  ? 

What  is  it  that  strikes  terror  in  the  soul 

When  we  absorb  the  oft  repeated  tale, 

But  th'  improbable  result  of  what 

65 


The  most  courageous  man  began  ?    He  who 

In  darkest  night,  alone,  glides  like  a  snake 

Up  to  the  enemy  encamped,  asleep;  — 

How  unawares  a  flame  devouring  wraps 

The  sleepers  and  the  waking,  and  at  last, 

On  all  sides  pressed  by  the  awakened  ones, 

He  turns  to  flee  on  foeman's  steed,  yet  still 

With  booty  laden, — is  then  such  an  one 

Alone  to  have  all  praise  ?    And  he  alone, 

Who,  safety's  way  despising,  boldly  goes 

To  rove  o'er  mountains  and  through  forests  dense, 

That  he  may  rid  the  region  'round  of  robbers? 

Is  nothing  left  for  us  ?    Must  tender  woman 

Forego  her  inborn  right,  a  savage  be 

Against  a  savage  turned,  like  Amazons 

To  rob  you  of  the  sword  and  to  avenge 

Oppression  with  your  blood  ?    Within  my  breast 

A  bold  adventure  heaves  and  falls  in  waves  : 

If  it  miscarries,  I  shall  not  escape 

Severe  reproach  and  most  disastrous  ill  ; 

Here  at  your  feet,  ye  gods,  I  lay  it  down  ! 

If  ye  are  true,  as  ye  are  held  to  be, 

Then  show  it  by  your  aid  and  glorify 

The  truth  through  me  ! — Yea,  understand,  oh  king, 

A  secret  fraud  is  being  now  devised  ; 

In  vain  thou  wilt  inquire  for  the  captives  ; 

They  are  departed  hence  and  seek  their  friends, 

Who  at  the  ship  are  waiting  on  the  shore. 

The  elder,  he  who  struggled  here  in  throes 

Of  madness,  now  set  free, — Orestes  is, 

My  brother,  and  his  confidant  the  other, 

Friend  of  his  youth,  and  Pylades  by  name. 

66 


Apollo  sent  them  forth  from  Delphi's  shrine 
Unto  this  shore  with  the  divine  command 
To  plunder  hence  the  image  of  Diana 
And  hence  to  him  the  sister  to  convej*  ; 
This  task  performed,  he  promises  to  him 
Whom  Furies  follow  and  maternal  blood 
Pollutes,  deliverance.    Now  both  of  us, 
The  last  of  Tantal's  house,  I  have  delivered 
Into  thy  hand  :  destroy  us — if  you  dare. 

Thoas.  And  thinkest  thou,  the  savage  Scythian, 
The  rude  barbarian,  will  lend  an  ear 
To  truth  and  to  humanity,  whose  voice 
The  Grecian  Atreus  did  never  heed  ? 

Iph.       'Tis  heard  by  every  one  beneath  the  sky 

Wherever  born,  in  whom  the  springs  of  life 
Flow  pure  and  unobstructed  through  the  breast, — 
What  purpose  touching  me  dost  thou,  oh  king, 
Revolve  in  silence  in  thine  inmost  soul  ? 
Is  it  destruction  ?    -So  then  slay  me  first  ! 
For  now  I  do  perceive,  since  there  remains 
For  us  no  rescue  more,  the  jeopardy 
Most  horrible,  whereunto  I  o'er-rash 
Designedly  have  hurried  my  beloved. 
Woe  !    I  shall  see  them  bound  before  my  eyes  ! 
With  what  a  glance  can  I  take  leave  of  him, 
My  brother,  whom  I  send  to  death?  Ne'ermore 
Can  I  look  into  his  beloved  eyes  ! 

Thoas.   Thus  have  the  clever  and  designing  twain 
Thrown  such  a  web  around  the  head  of  her, 
The  long-secluded  one,  who  lightly  gave 
A  willing  ear  to  all  their  hopes  and  wishes  ! 

Iph.       No  !  No  !  Oh,  king  !  I  might  have  been  deceived, 

67 


But  these  are  faithful,  these  are  true.    If  thou 
Shalt  find  them  otherwise,  then  let  them  fall 
And  cast  me  out  and  banish  me  disgraced 
To  gloomy  shore  of  some  deserted  isle, 
There  to  endure  my  folly's  punishment. 
But  if  this  man  should  prove  to  be  my  brother 
For  whom  I've  prayed  so  long  and  whom  I  love, 
Then  let  us  go  in  peace,  be  friendly  then 
To  him,  my  brother,  as  thou  art  to  me. 
My  father  fell  through  Clytaemnestra's  guilt 
And  she  through  her  own  son.    The  final  hope 
Of  Atreus'  line  doth  rest  on  him  alone. 
Let  me  with  a  clean  heart  and  a  clean  hand 
Pass  over  hence  and  purify  our  house. 
Thou  gavest  me  thy  word  !    If  e'er  for  me 
Should  be  prepared  a  way  unto  my  own, 
Thou  swaredst  me  to  let  me  go  ;  and  now 
It  is.    A  king  speaks  not  like  vulgar  men 
Confusedly,  the  suppliant  for  the  nonce 
To  send  away  ;  but  if  by  any  chance 
He  promises  what  he  does  not  expect, 
Then  feels  he  first  the  power  of  his  worth, 
When  he  can  fill  the  expectant  one  with  joy. 

Tkoas.  As  fire  with  water  strives  in  combat  fierce 
And  seething  seeks  t'  annihilate  his  foe, 
So  furiously  doth  anger  in  my  breast 
Resist  thy  words. 

Iph.  Oh,  let  the  flame  of  grace, 

E'en  like  the  holy  light  which  mildly  burns 
In  sacrificial  fire,  encircled  'round 
With  songs  of  praise  and  thanks  and  joy,  ascend 
To  me. 


63 


Thoas.  How  oft  this  voice  hath  soothed  my  soul  ! 

Iph.  Oh,  offer  me  thy  hand  in  pledge  of  peace. 

Thoas.  Thou  askest  much  in  a  short  space  of  time. 

Iph.  We  need  no  time  to  halt  to  do  what's  good. 

Thoas.  Great  deal  !  for  e'en  from  good  doth  evil  spring. 

Iph.  'Tis  doubt  alone  that  turneth  good  to  ill. 

Pause  not  to  think,  but  act  as  thou  dost  feel. 


Scene  IV.    The  former.    Orestes,  armed. 

Orestes.  {Behind  the  scenes. ) 

Increase  your  forces  !    Hold  them  back  ! 
A  few  more  moments  !    Yield  not  to  their  numbers 
And  cover  well  the  way  unto  the  ship 
For  me  and  sister  ! 

(  To  Iphigenia,  ivithout  observing  the  king.) 

Come,  we  are  betrayed. 
But  little  space  remains  to  us  for  flight.    Quick  ! 

(He  sees  the  king.) 

(Reaching  for  his  sword.) 
Here  in  my  presence  none  doth  wield 
His  naked  sword  unpunished. 

Do  not  profane 
The  goddess'  dwelling-place  through  rage  and  blood. 
Command  your  people  to  stand  still,  and  hear 
The  priestess,  hear  the  sister  ! 

Tell  me  then  ! 

Who  is't,  that  threatens  us? 

69 


Thoas. 
iph. 

Orestes. 


Iph.  Revere  in  him 

The  king,  a  second  father  he  to  me  ! 

Forgive  me  brother  ;  yet  my  simple  heart 

Hath  placed  our  fate  entirely  in  his  hands. 

I  have  confessed  to  him  your  plot  and  saved 

My  soul  from  treachery. 
Orestes.  Doth  he  intend 

To  grant  us  safe  return  thus  peaceably  ? 
Iph.      Your  glittering  sword  forbids  me  to  respond. 
Orestes.  {Sheathing  his  sword.') 

So  speak  !  thou  seest  I  have  obeyed  thy  words. 


Scene  V.     The  former.    Pylades,  followed  by  Arkas. 
Both  with  drawn  swords. 

Pylad.    Delay  not  !    We  our  forces  have  combined 
For  the  last  stand  and  3delding  step  by  step 
Are  being  slowly  forced  unto  the  sea. 
What  parley  of  the  princess  find  I  here  ! 
This  is  their  king's  most  honored  head. 

Arkas.  With  calmness,  as  beseemeth  thee,  oh  king, 

Thou  standest  'gainst  thine  enemies.    Now  soon 
Their  rashness  will  receive  chastisement  due  ; 
Their  party  yields  and  falls,  their  ship  is  ours. 
One  word  from  thee  and  it  will  be  in  flames. 

Thoas.   Away  !    Command  our  people  to  stand  still  ! 

Let  none  molest  the  foe,  whilst  we  are  speaking. 

Orestes.  The  like  will  I.    Go,  trusty  friend,  and  gather 
The  rest  of  all  our  band  ;  bid  them  be  still, 
Whilst  here  we  learn  what  end  the  gods  appoint 
To  our  endeavors. 


70 


Scene  VI.    Iphigenia.    Thoas.  Orestes. 


Iph.       Now  first  before  you  speak,  relieve  my  mind 
Of  all  anxiety.    I  fear  sore  strife 
If  thou,  oh  king,  wilt  not  the  gentle  voice 
Of  equity  regard  and,  thou,  my  brother, 
Wilt  not  restrain  th'  impetuous  fire  of  youth. 

Thoas.  I  will  restrain  my  anger,  as  befits 

The  elder.    Answer  me  !    What  proof  hast  thou 
To  show,  that  thou  art  Agamemnon's  son 
And  this  one's  brother  true? 

Orestes.  Here  is  the  sword 

With  which  he  slew  the  bravest  men  of  Troy. 
This  took  I  from  his  murderer  and  prayed 
The  gods  to  lend  to  me  the  valour,  strength 
And  fortune  of  the  great  and  mighty  king 
And  grant  to  me  a  death  more  honorable. 
Choose  now  a  noble  from  thy  mighty  host 
And  let  me  stand  in  combat  'gainst  the  best. 
As  far  as  earth  heroic  sons  doth  bear 
No  stranger  is  denied  this  proof  of  strength. 

Thoas.  This  privilege  hath  ne'er  been  granted  here 
To  any  stranger. 

Orestes.  Then  from  thee  and  me 

Henceforth  let  custom  be  begun  anew  ! 
By  all  men  everywhere  the  noble  act 
Of  rulers  is  revered  and  held  as  law. 
And  let  me  not  contend  for  freedom  only, 
L,et  me,  a  stranger,  for  the  strangers  fight  ! 
Fall  I,  then  is  their  sentence  with  mine  own 
Pronounced  ;  but  if  my  fortune  is  to  win, 
Then  may  no  man  upon  this  shore  e'er  tread, 


To  whom  shall  be  denied  the  rapid  glance 
Of  sympathetic  love,  and  comforted 
Let  each  one  hence  depart  ! 

Thoas.  Thou  seemest  not, 

Oh  youth,  unworthy  of  the  ancestors 
Of  whom  thou  maks't  thy  boast.    Great  is  the  count 
Of  noble,  valiant  men  who  follow  me  ; 
Yet  I  myself  with  all  my  years  can  still 
Maintain  mine  own  against  the  foe  and  I 
Am  ready  now  to  hazard  all  with  thee 
In  chance  of  arms. 

I  ph.  No  !    No  !    There  is  no  need, 

Oh  king,  of  blood}'  argument  like  this  ! 
Draw  not  thy  sword,  but  think  of  me  and  mine  ! 
The  rash  encounter  doth  immortalize 
A  man  :  when  he  doth  fall,  he's  praised  in  song. 
But  no  posterity  doth  count  the  tears 
Unending  of  the  widow  left  forsaken  ; 
The  bard  is  silent  of  the  thousand  days 
And  nights  in  weeping  passed,  where  some  calm  soul 
Consumes  itself  with  care  in  the  vain  hope 
Of  calling  back  again  the  long  lost  friend 
So  rashly  torn  away.    Myself  hath  care 
Forewarned  not  to  be  drawn  from  safe  retreat 
By  any  fraud  of  robber  and  betrayed 
To  servitude.    With  diligence  have  I 
Examined  them,  each  circumstance  explored, 
Demanded  proofs,  and  now  my  heart  is  sure. 
See  here  on  his  right  hand  the  mark,  resembling 
Three  stars,  which  on  the  very  day  appeared, 
When  he  was  born,  and  which  the  priest  declared 
Betokened  heavy  deeds,  to  be  performed 
72 


By  this  same  hand.    Then  doubly  doth  convince  me 

This  scar,  which  cleaves  his  eye-brow  here.    When  he 

Was  yet  a  child,  Electra  rash  and  heedless, 

As  was  her  wont,  dropped  him  from  out  her  arms. 

He  struck  a  tripod  as  he  fell — 'Tis  he — 

Shall  I  yet  name  his  likeness  to  his  father, 

Shall  I  the  inward  leaping  of  my  heart 

Adduce  to  thee  as  proof  of  my  assurance  ? 

Thoas.  And  if  thy  speech  removed  each  lingering  doubt, 
And  if  I  tamed  the  anger  in  my  breast, 
Yet  were  it  needful  that  the  sword  decide 
Between  us.    Peace  I  see  not.    They  are  come, 
Thou  hast  thyself  acknowledged  it  to  me, 
To  rob  me  of  the  goddess'  sacred  image. 
Think' st  thou  that  I  with  apathy  can  see  this? 
The  Greek  doth  often  turn  his  eager  eyes 
To  treasures  of  barbarians  far  remote, 
The  golden  fleece,  their  steeds  and  fairest  daughters  ; 
Yet  force  and  cunning  have  not  always  led 
Them  safely  back  with  goods  thus  coveted. 

Orestes.  The  image  shall  not  sunder  us,  oh  king  ! 
For  now  we  do  perceive  the  veil  of  error 
Which  a  divinity  spread  o'er  our  heads 
When  he  commanded  us  to  wander  hither. 
Him  I  besought  for  counsel  and  release 
From  the  fell  Furies'  company  :  he  spoke  : 
' '  Bringst  thou  the  sister  who  on  Tauris'  shore, 
Within  the  sanctuary  stays  perforce, 
To  Grecian  land,  the  curse  will  be  removed. ' ' 
We  construed  it  to  mean  Apollo's  sister, 
And  he  intended  thee  !    The  cruel  bands 
Are  now  dissolved  ;  thou  art,  thou  holy  one, 


73 


Again  restored  to  thine.    Touched  by  thy  hand 

I  was  made  whole,  was  healed  ;  in  thy  embrace 

The  frenzy  seized  me  in  his  every  claw 

For  the  last  time  and  all  my  marrow  shook 

Most  terribly  ;  then  like  a  snake  it  fled 

Into  its  cave.    Through  thee  I  now  enjoy 

Anew  the  universal  light  of  day. 

Most  fair  and  glorious  now  to  me  appear 

The  purposes  divine.    The  goddess  took  thee, 

Protectress  of  our  house,  and  hid  thee  safe, 

E'en  like  a  sacred  image,  whereunto 

The  city's  fate  immutably  is  bound 

In  mystery  of  oracle  divine  ; 

Sequestered  thee  in  holy  quietude 

To  bless  thy  brother  and  thine  own  to  bless. 

When  all  salvation  seemed  forever  lost 

On  the  wide  earth,  thou  giv'st  us  all  again. 

Now  let  thy  thoughts  return  to  peace,  oh  king  ! 

Oppose  her  not,  now  that  she  doth  intend 

To  consecrate  th'  paternal  home  anew, 

Restore  me  to  the  halls  now  freed  from  curse, 

And  press  upon  my  brow  the  ancient  crown  ! 

Requite  the  blessing  which  she  brought  to  thee, 

And  let  a  nearer  privilege  be  mine  ! 

Both  force  and  craft,  the  highest  boast  of  men, 

Are  through  the  truth  of  this  exalted  soul 

Brought  down  to  shame,  and  pure  and  child-like  trust 

In  an  illustrious  man  will  be  rewarded. 

Bethink  thee  of  thy  promise  and  be  moved 

By  this  same  speech  so  justly,  truly  spoken  ! 

Behold  us  here  !    Not  often  art  thou  given 

Occasion  for  a  noble  deed  like  this. 


74 


Thou  canst  refuse  it  not ;  then  grant  it  soon. 
Thoas.  So  go  ! 

Iph.  Not  so,  my  king  !    Without  a  blessing, 

In  anger,  I  can  never  part  from  thee. 
Proscribe  us  not !    Let  there  proceed  from  thee 
To  us  a  friendly  hospitality  ; 
So  we  will  not  forever  be  estranged 
And  separated.    Worthy  and  most  dear, 
As  was  my  father,  so  art  thou  to  me, 
And  this  impression  will  remain  with  me. 
If  e'er  the  lowliest  of  thy  people  bring 
Unto  mine  ear  the  sound  of  that  same  voice 
Which  I  was  ever  wont  to  hear  in  thee, 
And  in  the  poorest  I  behold  thy  kin  : 
I  will  receive  him  like  a  god,  I  will 
Myself  prepare  a  couch  for  him,  invite 
Him  to  a  seat  beside  the  cheerful  hearth, 
Inquire  but  of  thee  and  thy  estate. 
Oh,  may  the  gods  grant  thee  well-earned  reward 
For  all  thy  noble  deeds  and  tenderness  ! 
Farewell !    Oh,  turn  to  us  and  give  me  back 
But  one  kind  word  e'er  we  forever  part ! 
More  gently  then  the  wind  will  swell  our  sails, 
More  softly  flow  the  tears  from  straining  eyes 
As  we  depart.    Farewell !    Extend  to  me 
In  pledge  of  old  acquaintance  thy  right  hand. 

Thoas.  Farewell  ! 


